


'Til Death

by Timeless A-Peel (timelessapeel)



Series: The New Avengers Arc [9]
Category: New Avengers (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen, Mystery, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 79,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessapeel/pseuds/Timeless%20A-Peel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighth in a series. Following their return from Canada, the team is called upon to investigate accusations of treason levelled at one of Steed's old friends. Their inquiries uncover a larger plot, one which will have lasting consequences for the triumvirate...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Eighth in a series. Takes place in September, 1977, shortly after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, and Life on Mars.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> Author's Note: If you've been visiting the Avengers section of this site for awhile now, you might recall that, up until a few years back, I posted fics as part of my "arc" series, that was meant to flesh out the events of the series within the confines of the canon. Then life took a couple of unexpected turns, and writing went on the back burner, including the "arc" series. The gap stretched out longer than I intended, but I always meant to come back to it, at the very least to do the last two stories I had planned in the series. This is the first of those last two hold-outs.
> 
> This fic has proven particularly tough to write, for whatever reason, and has existed in a couple of different versions. The first one was written early on in my discovery of the show, and will never see the light of day (for everyone's sake). The second I got quite far into before I realised it just wasn't working, and threw it out. This time I think I've finally gotten it to work the way I wanted it to, especially in terms of pace.
> 
> This will be another long one, and I shall do my level best to get updates out in a timely fashion following this "teaser".
> 
> Enjoy!  
> \-----------------------------

John Steed negotiated the corner of the country lane carefully, lest the inordinately large wheel arches of the Jaguar catch on the hedgerows in the process. He still hadn’t managed to replace his Range Rover after the last one met its end blocking Larry Doomer’s rocket, and he was in desperate need of a more practical car to negotiate the less-than-forgiving terrain of the country. Still, that could wait. The telephone call that the Ministry had alerted him to not more than an hour earlier was monopolising his attention. Every neuron not required to navigate the Big Cat on the windy country road was engaged in directing his eyes to scan the roadway for any sign of his missing colleagues.

The Jaguar made the corner, but clunked alarmingly in the process. Steed winced noticeably, but then quickly forgot about the damage to his undercarriage when he caught sight of the figure perched on top of a low stone wall beside the road. Nearby on the small shoulder was the call box she’d undoubtedly used to make contact. Steed steered the car over to the shoulder and parked it as far as he could off the road, praying that no one would be negotiating the corner before he left. He alighted nimbly from the vehicle, bringing both bowler and brolly along, donning the former, and letting the latter swing naturally from his right hand. He slammed the car door loud enough that his colleague should have started in surprise, or at the very least looked his way, but she was staring resolutely at the ground. Steed frowned at the uncharacteristic lack of awareness of her surroundings, knew instinctively that something was wrong. He approached her hurriedly, every sense alive to the possibility of an ambush. The assignment had gone wrong, after all—someone, somehow, had managed to breach their cover. His colleagues been kidnapped--Steed had no doubt about that. The question was, had they managed to escape, or was this to be the site of the latest in the long line of hostage situations that dotted Steed’s career? But there was no glint of a sniper’s rifle in among the trees or hedgerows, and no hint that the figure still perched resolutely on the wall was restrained in any way. Which made her behaviour all the more puzzling. She was close enough to touch before he finally decided it was safe to speak.

“Purdey.”

She looked up then, turned unseeing blue eyes up to meet his. There was a large smudge of dirt across her left cheek, with lines of clean skin cut through it in the shape of tear tracks, as though she’d been crying. She wasn’t crying now, but her eyes bore the shocking clarity that came in the aftermath. Steed cast his gaze downwards, did a quick check for injuries. There were similar smudges on her hands and upper arms, and reddened marks around her wrists that spoke of restraint. Her arms and legs bore an impressive collection of small cuts and bruises, though the most serious was a gash on her forehead that had bled impressively, if the dried clumps in her fringe were any indication. Her stockings were a complete loss, full of nicks and runs, and there was mud on the heels of her impractical stilettos, but nothing to suggest serious injury or great pain. All the same, his next words automatically were, “Are you all right?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out, and she hesitated as if she didn’t know the answer herself. “I...” she began, and her voice was hoarse and rough, scratching up through her throat as though it had been out of use for some time. “I’m...I’m not hurt,” she told him, carefully, and with great effort, and Steed felt a deep frown crease his features.

“Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t look all right. We’ll have Kendrick check you over when we get back.”

“I didn’t say I was all right,” Purdey protested, voice still hoarse. Now that he thought about it, she sounded as though she’d been shouting, as though she were losing her voice from overuse, not lack of it. “Because I’m not. It’s not...I...” Her lips started to tremble, and fresh tears welled up from some reserve deep inside. Steed immediately put an arm around her shoulders, let her drop her head to chest before the first sobs came. 

“There, now. I’ll get you out of here, and you can tell me everything when we get back to London and you’ve had a drink, some food, and medical attention,” he reassured, glancing around for any sign of his other colleague. “That is, as soon as we’ve picked up Gambit.”

She looked up at that, quickly, head snapping up with such force that he looked down out of surprise as much as anything else. The look on her face tied his stomach in knots. “You do know where Gambit is?” he inquired, frown deepening.

But Purdey shook her head. “Gone,” she managed around another sob. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Steed repeated, bending so he could look at her at eye level. “Purdey, if they still have him, we need to move quickly. Did they take you both to the same location? Did you escape?”

Purdey nodded. “Y-yes.”

“Could you find your way back?”

She shook her head, buried her face in her hands. “There’s no point.”

“No point? Of course there’s a point. If we hurry, we might be able to assemble a team before they move him.”

Purdey was still shaking her head, over and over, and a muffled, “No, no,” came out from behind her hands.

“Purdey!” Steed said with feeling, grabbing her wrists and pulling them away from her face. “This is not the time to go to pieces. If you know where Gambit is, we owe it to him to do our best to try and get him out. So pull yourself together and tell me, where—“

“Gambit’s dead, Steed!” 

She screamed it, raw and ugly, and with all the force of someone full of grief, and anger, and frustration, and desolation. And with the sort of conviction born of absolute certainty.

Steed froze, felt his heart stop, felt the world fall away, felt the shock creep in at the edges of his senses, until there was nothing left but himself, and Purdey’s mask of sorrow.

“Dead?” he repeated, so quietly he thought she may not have heard, but her face told him she had. “Are you certain?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” she choked. “I saw it happen. He’s dead, Steed. And it’s all my fault.”


	2. Home on the Range/Funeral Pyre

_Five days earlier..._

“It’s quite pretty for a training range, isn’t it?”

Purdey folded her arms on top of the brick wall, and gazed out over the woodland far below and the rolling hills beyond. In the distance she could pick out a clutch of fluffy white balls that could only be a herd of sheep idly grazing. They were too far away to be bothered by the gunfire that had lulled over the past few minutes. She smiled at the scene, an idyllic picture of the English countryside. Even the area below her that had been cleared away to make room for obstacles and reloading stations had managed to retain a modicum of its natural beauty. It made a nice change from sterile Ministry corridors and dimly lit car parks.

“I’ve been a bit busy to look at the scenery,” a voice behind her responded wryly, and Purdey turned away from the view to face the source.

“Come have a look, then,” she offered letting her elbows rest on the ledge behind her.

“I think I’d better finish this first, don’t you?” Mike Gambit was crouched a short distance away on the platform that held them both. He held up the piece of rope he was busy unknotting for her benefit. “We need a harness, and it isn’t going to tie itself.”

“Tie faster,” Purdey suggested brightly, smile a mile wide.

“I could if I had some help,” Gambit pointed out.

“But then I’d miss the view,” Purdey teased, well-aware that she was being difficult, but enjoying herself in spite of it.

“Ye-ess,” Gambit said knowingly, shaking his head ruefully but smiling in spite of himself. “Of course you would.”

“Anyway, you’re doing perfectly well on your own,” Purdey went on. “An ex-sailor like you. You’ve probably tied hundreds of knots. Thousands. Better than I ever could.”

“You’ll never know until you try.”

“Hmm-hmm,” Purdey chuckled to herself. “That wouldn’t be very sportsmanlike, would it? I mean, we already have an unfair advantage compared to the other teams. If I helped you with that, too, it wouldn’t be right at all. Consider me your handicap.”

Gambit quirked an eyebrow. “Now you, Purdey-girl, are a lot of things, but my handicap isn’t one of them.”

“How charming.” Purdey turned her back to him and returned her attention to the view. Gambit frowned.

“Get your head down, Purdey, before someone blows it off.”

Purdey wrinkled her nose at him over her shoulder. “That’s a bit melodramatic for a training exercise, isn’t it?”

“Pretend blows it off then,” Gambit amended. “Either way, you’re a sitting duck standing there.”

“Wouldn’t that make me a standing duck?”

Gambit grimaced. “Very funny. Are you trying to lose us points?”

“No,” Purdey countered in mild outrage. “But as you can see, no one’s taken a shot at me yet, and I don’t think they’re about to start now.”

“Past experience is nothing to go by. Ask David Hume.”

“If I ever perfect my time machine, I shall,” Purdey countered playfully. “Anyway, the only team that has a clean shot is Larry’s, and Larry wouldn’t shoot me.” She paused. “You he might, though, so it’s just as well you’re staying down.”

“Glad you approve. If you’re so chummy with Larry, maybe you’d better be on his team, then.”

“Then he’d have an unfair advantage,” Purdey opined.

“How so?”

“I’m the only one anyone else on the range is hoping to score a dinner date with. They want to stay on my good side.”

“So they’ll all be pulling for me, then.”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with your winning personality.”

“I hate to say it, but I think you’re overestimating your own charm, love,” Gambit told her, focussing on his knot. “Not when it comes to me,” he added, when he felt her eyes on him. “But the rest of them. Don’t get me wrong, but you’re not going to neutralise a bad training score. Even you’re not that beautiful.” He looked up and met her eyes, winked. “Just about, but not quite.”

Purdey blushed a little in spite of herself. “And what about you, Mike Gambit? Would you risk a bad score to stay on my good side?”

“I’m on your team, so I don’t have to worry about that, do I?” Gambit pointed out, examining his knot with an appraising eye. It was ready.

“Do we have to use that?” Purdey wanted to know, clearly less-than-enthusiastic about Gambit’s handiwork.

“It’s either that or the pole,” Gambit pointed out, indicating the smooth wooden cynlinder just visible through a gap in the barricade along the front of their platform. “And you’ll be an easy target on the way down. Someone’s bound to take a pot shot at you, no matter how much they want to take you for a steak.”

Purdey smirked. “Gambit, you have no faith in humanity.”

“Not the part of it out there, I don’t,” Gambit agreed, straightening up. “But feel free to try your luck. I’ll be shimmying down the back, not getting shot at, if you need me.”

“Gambit. I’m disappointed. Aren’t we supposed to be used to taking risks by now?”

“Not unnecessary ones,” Gambit reminded. “If we were in a tight spot and that was our only way down, then I’d lay down covering fire and get you to make a break for it. But not when we have this.” He waggled the harness at her. “And not when someone’s keeping score. You do want a good score?”

Purdey bristled. “Of course I do.”

“Then let’s go. Don’t make me claim seniority.”

Purdey’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“If you do, I might be forced to make you a victim of friendly fire.” Purdey pulled her regulation training range pistol from her hip holster and waved it at him warningly. Gambit raised an eyebrow.

“Are you defecting?”

“I’m going to claim self-defence. Against your bad puns,” Purdey shot back, a small smile playing on her lips. She nodded at the harness. “Are you sure that can hold both of us?”

“Positive. Wrap your legs around and we can go.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“Don’t you wish you knew?”

Purdey’s next, probably impolite, comment was cut off by a siren echoing over the training range’s loud speaker, followed shortly after by an officious voice. “The exercise is temporarily suspended. All agents are to remain in position and refrain from firing their weapons until they receive further instructions. Team seven has been withdrawn from the exercise on official business. Would they please report to the briefing room.”

“That’s us.” Purdey and Gambit exchanged glances. “It must be Steed,” Purdey continued, moving to the barricade and shielding her eyes against the sun as she peered across the expanse of the range to the control tower in the distance. She could just faintly make out a figure through the glass waving what could only be an umbrella. Purdey smiled. “It is Steed,” she confirmed to Gambit, who’d come to stand behind her. She turned round and added, brightly, “We must be needed,” just before she dropped off the face of the earth.

Gambit watched Purdey slide swiftly down the pole to alight on solid ground, shook his head knowingly. “Show-off,” he muttered good-humouredly, then followed suit.

Purdey was already on the move, but it didn’t take very many strides to catch her up. “What do you think it’s about?” she wondered as he fell into step beside her, scuffing her combat boot light-heartedly against the training ground’s well-worn turf. “Have you heard of anything brewing?”

Gambit made a moue and considered. “Couple of things. Nothing major enough to bring Steed in, though. Not unless someone else mucked things up pretty badly. There’s that international peace conference, but that’s more security’s job than ours—gah!”

Gambit’s hand flew to the back of his neck. It came away red—with powder. He whirled round just in time to spot Larry Carrington, one-time victim of Juventor’s brain-draining machine, waving at him from another platform, a smug smile adorning his features.

“Sorry, Gambit!” he called, with anything but remorse. “My finger slipped.”

“I’ll bet,” Gambit shot back, considering letting his fingers do some slipping of their own—into a rude gesture. But Purdey was watching, and she’d only rib him for it. It was bad enough that she was waving cheerily at the enemy.

“If you’re withdrawing, does that mean I get to take you to dinner?” Larry wanted to know.

Purdey shook her head. “You have to beat us, not win by default. That was the wager!”

Gambit slanted an amused eyebrow at her. “Really, Purdey? You bet on us?”

Purdey shrugged. “Why not? If we’d gotten the best score, we’d have the prestige. And if we lost, I’d get a meal. A girl does need a consolation prize. And I don’t think your harness would make the grade.”

“Never thought you were into that sort of thing,” Gambit quipped.

“Oh, shut it,” Purdey said good-humouredly. They’d made their way to the main building, a low, squat, concrete affair. “Come on, Steed’s waiting. I’ll bet I’m out of the changing room before you.”

“What’s the prize?”

“Dinner.”

“Why is it that all your bets wind up being in your favour, even if you lose?”

“Because I’m clever enough not to bet the horses,” Purdey said with a cheerful pat on the shoulder. “But if you win, I’m willing to let you keep your harness as well, since it seems so dear to you.”

“Thanks ever so.”  
***  
They emerged a quarter of an hour later, almost simultaneously, though Purdey claimed her foot was out the door a fraction of a second before his, and as Gambit knew he’d end up buying her evening meal one way or another, he didn’t bother to argue, though he didn’t fail to notice—or appreciate—the way her dress clung just a touch more than usual to her freshly-sponged skin. He could feel his shirt sticking to his own flesh due to the quick shower he’d had to rinse off the sweat from the course, but if Purdey noticed, she was being her usual coy self.

They found Steed in the briefing room, as promised, leaning against the large table used to spread out the map of the course for the benefit of the agents who would be running it, umbrella swinging idly from one hand, bowler resting on the table surface beside him, half-covering a manila folder. His face was creased with a small frown, and he appeared to be deep in thought, but he came back to the present as soon as they entered.

“Ah, there you are,” he greeted, straightening up. “I’m extremely sorry to interrupt your annual refresher course, but I have something of an emergency on my hands.”

“That’s all right,” Purdey said brightly. “It’s not a complete loss. Gambit had the opportunity to practice his knots, and I’m sure someone will appreciate it.”

“I’m not saying a word,” Gambit said dryly, face impassive in stark contrast to Purdey’s delighted grin. “We can always make it up in the next round. What’s the emergency?”

Steed looked apologetic, which wasn’t an expression the pair were used to receiving from the man who, for all intents and purposes, was their boss, regardless of how many dinners out they’d had. “I’m afraid it’s rather personal,” he explained, picking up the folder from beneath the bowler and sliding it across the table top to where Purdey and Gambit stood. Gambit stopped it with his index finger and turned it around in one motion. “George Sands,” he read, head snapping up in unison with Purdey’s own. “That rings a bell.”

“If you’ve spent as much time snooping through my personal files as you claim, it ought to,” Steed pointed out, and returned Gambit’s faint smile with his own. Purdey looked from one to the other with growing impatience.

“As I’m not the spy, or the spy spying on him, would you care to fill me in?” she inquired, and was rewarded with near-identical looks of mild amusement from the two men. She crossed her arms impatiently. “Is one of you going to tell me, or will you act it out together in a tableau?”

“It’s Steed’s life,” Gambit rescinded, opening the folder.

“And as my Lear was atrocious, as any of ex-masters at Eton will inform you, I think we’ll forgo the dramatics,” Steed chimed in, and amusement made another appearance across the two men’s of countenances, before Steed’s face once more resumed the frown it had been wearing a few minutes earlier. “George Sands was a colleague in the war. Not on the front lines, but the back rooms. Coding and decoding, cracking codes, that sort of thing. Brilliant mind. Brilliant man.”

“And now?” Purdey slid a black and white 8”x10” from the file and regarded a slight, middle-aged man with thick glasses and greying hair.

“One of our best bureaucrats. Handles all the most sensitive files. One of the most trusted men in his department.”

“Right.” Gambit slid sheaf of papers from the file, and started to skim the contents. “Why are we interested in him, other than because he’s a friend of yours?”

“Because he was arrested yesterday for treason.”

“What?” Gambit’s head snapped up in surprise. “Treason?”

Steed nodded in confirmation. “He was found with top secret files in his home, files that should have never been removed from the premises, something George would have known better than to do by mistake.”

“Was found?” Purdey repeated, a frown creasing her features. “Who reported him?”

Steed’s face, already very grim, somehow got grimmer. “His wife.”

“What?” It was Purdey’s turn to look surprised.

Steed nodded. “I can’t believe it, either. George and Maud have been together since the war. One of the most devoted couples I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. They have two grown children and three grandchildren. Her turning him in makes about as much sense as George being guilty.”

“Have you spoken to her?” Purdey wanted to know. “Asked her why she did it?”

“Yes,” Steed confirmed, “but I’d rather not tell you what she said.”

“Because you want us to talk to her again,” Gambit said knowingly. “And you want fresh eyes. Unbiased ones.”

“Exactly,” Steed agreed. “I’ve tried to be impartial, but there’s too much history on both sides. I’d very much like to see if you draw the same conclusions as I did.”

Gambit nodded. “Anything George was working on that might explain why he went bad—if he went bad?”

Steed sucked his teeth. “George handles any number of files, many of them sensitive, so there’s rather a lot to choose from. The upcoming peace conference is the most imminent, but there’s no indication that the files that were found in his home were linked to that in any way.”

“Do we know what they’re about?” Gambit wanted to know.

“We will—eventually. You know how sensitive some departments are when it comes to passing on their privileged files.”

“They’re looking for a sturdy pair of scissors to cut the red tape,” Gambit replied with a knowing smile, and Steed chuckled.

“What about George?” Purdey cut in, not unlike the proverbial scissors. “Have you talked to him?”

Steed shook his head. “Not as of yet. They were processing him all night, and wouldn’t let me anywhere near him lest I contaminate the interview. I’ve an appointment to see him an hour from now.” He glanced at his watch. “I should be going now, as it happens. If the pair of you could meet me there once you’ve finished, I’d be grateful.”

“Of course,” Purdey agreed, handing the photo back to Gambit to return to the file with the rest of the papers.

Steed smiled with something like relief. “Excellent. I realise this is less an assignment than a favour, but I appreciate the help nonetheless.”

“We understand,” Purdey said sympathetically, leaning forward to rest a hand on his arm. “You know you can always rely on us, Steed.”

“I know,” Steed said, returning her smile. “And I’m very grateful.” He looked to Gambit. “Were you planning on driving down together?”

Gambit looked mildly confused by the question, but answered nonetheless. “Hadn’t really thought about it. I guess we could. Why? Is that important?”

“Not terribly. But it can’t hurt to bounce ideas back and forth in the car on the way down. I’ll see you back in town.” With that, he made his exit, leaving Purdey to exchange mildly bemused looks.

“That was...odd,” Purdey said after a moment. “What do you think it means?”

“With Steed, who knows?” Gambit sighed. “Come on, we can take the Jag, unless you really want to drive.”

Purdey wrinkled her nose. “You do it. I think I still have a cramp from the flight back from Canada.”

“I told you not to fall asleep against the window like that.”

“So you did. Five times. Come on, then. Steed will be back to London before we’ve even left the building at this rate.”  
***  
 _Five days later_

The remains of the building were still smoking, despite the best efforts of the clean-up crew to extinguish all the flames. Somewhere, deep within the shattered centre of the structure, a few embers still smouldered, tossing ugly grey smoke up into sky, where it was whisked off by the breeze to parts unknown. Purdey watched it spiral upwards, a blanket draped heavily over her slim shoulders. To her, this was a funeral pyre.

“In your own time, Purdey,” Steed said quietly, a comforting presence at her side. “When you’re ready, tell me what happened.”

Purdey closed her eyes, willing the memories to come flooding back while fighting the emotional connections at the same time. It was easier than she had imagined—she’d cried so much, she was emotionally spent, and she could feel the cold creep of shock dance up her spine and over her shoulders, numbing her to everything and everyone. Now would be the best time, perhaps the only time, that she would remember this clearly. She knew she ought to make it count. She opened her eyes.

“The window was just there,” she began, and she felt Steed snap to attention at her side. She managed to disentangle her arm from the confines of the blanket long enough to point out the space where the aperture had been, roughly, before it and the wall had been taken out in the explosion. “They were firing at me inside. There wasn’t enough cover to make it to the door, so I knew I had to take the chance and jump through the window. And Gambit...” She bit her lip, felt against all odds a fresh sob climb into her throat, but she suppressed it with a deep breath. “Gambit was already dead,” she managed. “So there was nothing to do but get out.”

Steed nodded, not trusting himself to comment, painfully aware that any interruption could shatter Purdey’s fragile calm, and any chance he had of gleaning a clear picture of events. 

“The window was closed,” Purdey continued. “I broke it going through, and it...I ended up scratched, but not too badly. But I landed wrong. I was in such a hurry, and I was...I hardly knew what was happening at that point. In shock, I suppose. I fell, hit the ground, and the wind was knocked out of me.” She swallowed, and suddenly the bruises she’d been ignoring throbbed painfully. “I don’t think I was down for long. I-I knew that they were going to chase me, so I got back up, and ran. I ran for the woods.” She started walking, slow, deliberate steps that followed her original path, and Steed followed. “I thought I might be able to lose them in there, or at the very least use them for cover. I kept waiting for more shots, but there weren’t any.” She frowned, a furrow appearing between her brows. “It seemed wrong that no one was chasing me. Even at the time, I thought it was odd. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see someone, but no one was there.” She came to a sudden stop. “That was when the building blew up.” She hugged the blanket closer to her body. “It threw me off my feet, and I...I was stunned. I don’t know for how long. But when I got back to my feet, it was on fire, all of it, the whole house, burning up. I stood there, I waited to see if someone, anyone, was going to come out. But no one ever did. No one. Not even...” She lowered her eyes to study the charred grass beneath her feet. “No one,” she repeated softly.

Steed, satisfied that she wasn’t going to go any further without prodding, chose this moment to jump in. “You’re absolutely certain no one left?” he pressed. “If no one was firing at you, is it possible they could have left by another exit before they destroyed the house?”

“It wasn’t very long,” Purdey replied. “Between my escape and the explosion. A minute, ninety seconds, no more. But I suppose they must have done. Smith wasn’t suicidal. And I think…I think I could smell petrol when I was inside.” A line appeared between her eyes as she struggled to think logically. “They might have been planning to destroy the building from the start, decided to cut their losses rather than come after me.”

“So it’s possible,” Steed decided, knowing even slim chances were more probable then first glance may suggest. “What about after the explosion? You say you were knocked off your feet. Could you have been unconscious?”

Purdey shrugged pathetically. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter, Steed. I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not possible.”

“How do you know whether it’s possible or not? For that matter, how do you know what I’m thinking at all?” Steed inquired.

“Because I know you, Steed,” Purdey said flatly. “And you’ve become so used to the impossible, you’ve come to think it’s more likely than anything else. And I know what you want to think, because it’s what I want to think, too. You want to say that they could have taken Gambit out some back way before the explosion, and that he’s with them now, and if we can find them, then we’ll find him. Alive.” The tears were flowing again, the blue eyes bright and moist. “And maybe they did take him, Steed. Maybe he wasn’t in there when that explosion happened. But it doesn’t matter. Because he was already dead, Steed. He was dead, and there was no way to save him. Only I could have done that, and I failed. Oh, hell.” She covered her face with her hands. “I failed him, Steed! I failed him, and now he’s gone!”

Steed put a comforting arm over her shoulders, and started to gently guide her away from the scene before she collapsed completely. “I’m taking her to Kendrick,” he told a member of the clean-up crew as he passed him on the way to the Jaguar. “I’ll file my report and her statement by morning.”

The crewman nodded his understanding, and Steed was able to concentrate on the more important task of folding Purdey’s rapidly-crumpling frame into the passenger seat of his car.


	3. The Interview & The Examination

**Five days earlier**

“So,” Purdey began, once she was firmly ensconced in the passenger seat of the XJS and they were well on their way to the Sands residence. She had the man’s file in her lap, from which they had acquired his address, and were now winding their way down the country lanes that led away from the Ministry’s training range. “What could possibly possess a happily-married, highly respected, very competent, extremely dedicated man, one vouched for by Steed of all people, to suddenly decide to walk out the door with top secret files?”

Gambit turned his attention momentarily away from the road and regarded her. “There’s always the obvious.”

Purdey returned his look. “He’s being got at.”

“Or the wife’s being got at.”

“Or they’re both being got at,” Purdey finished, flipping the file open and examining the first page.

“And if it’s both, are they being got at by the same person?” Gambit added.

Purdey pulled a face. “If it was the same person, what could they hope to accomplish by having one inform on the other? He’s been arrested, and they must know we’re going to be watching her.”

“Maybe they don’t care,” Gambit suggested. “Or maybe they did it to seed mistrust in the department, and they don’t give a damn about the files.”

“Maybe,” Purdey allowed, flipping to the next page of the file. They drove in silence for a few minutes, before Gambit spoke again.

“’Course, it could be more innocuous than that.”

Purdey looked up from her reading and arched an interested eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

Gambit shrugged as best he could without taking his hands off the wheel. “Maybe they’re not as happily married as everyone thinks.”

Purdey regarded him sceptically. “Gambit, do you honestly think a woman would have her husband arrested for treason because he didn’t take the rubbish out?”

Gambit’s half-shrug made another appearance. “People have killed for less.”

“I think this job’s given you a nasty, suspicious mind,” Purdey tsked in disapproval. “Anyway, it doesn’t explain how the files ended up in the house. She certainly didn’t have clearance to access them.”

“True, but there could be ways around that.” Gambit shifted in his seat so he could take the wheel one-handed. “All I’m saying is that you might think you know all there is to know about a person, what they think of you, what your relationship is, and you can wind up getting it completely wrong.”

There was something about the way he said it that made Purdey think he wasn’t talking about the case. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but his face was impassive. Still, there was definitely something off. “Are you all right?” she asked, and Gambit turned infuriatingly inexpressive eyes on her.

“Fine. Bit jet-lagged from the flight back from Canada, maybe, but I’ll live. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” Purdey said truthfully, still scanning his features for something, anything, she could put her finger on, but nothing leapt out at her. “Are you annoyed with me?” She almost surprised herself with the question, had hardly realised she was even thinking it until the words had left her mouth. They seemed to catch Gambit unawares as well, because now he was looking at her as intently as she was him.

“No,” he said carefully, reaching down to change the Jag’s gear. “I’m not annoyed with you, Purdey.”

“Oh. Good.” Gambit returned his attention to his driving, but Purdey’s gaze lingered on him a little longer, wondering just what it was that had put her off. “Will we be there soon?” she inquired, hoping to steer the conversation into neutral territory.

Gambit was looking out the driver’s side window. “Should be,” he hazarded. “Just around the next bend, if I haven’t got the route wrong.”

He hadn’t. They pulled up to a pleasant cottage, conveniently situated far enough outside of London to be firmly in the country, but not so far that a man who worked in the city would face a punishing commute. Gambit parked the XJS, and they stepped out, leaving the file behind, knowing it would serve as a hindrance rather than a help if Mrs. Sands saw them constantly consulting it during the interview.

They moved to the door wordlessly and rang the bell, glancing casually around at their surroundings while they waited. They’d conducted countless interviews like this one before, both separately and together, and they didn’t need to say anything to ensure they were on the same page. When the door opened, they slipped smoothly into professional mode.

“Hello, Mrs. Sands,” Purdey greeted, treating the woman peering out at them to a warm smile. “I’m Purdey, and this is Mr. Gambit. We work with Steed. ” She paused while Gambit pulled out his ID and let the woman examine it. “We understand this is a very difficult time, but if you feel up to it, we’d like to ask you some questions about your husband.”

Mrs. Sands was a small, slight woman, late fifties, with elegantly swept up grey hair, and pleasant features drawn due to stress. She didn’t seem surprised to see them, had clearly gone through this procedure before, and was expecting to do so again. “Yes, of course,” she said, voice soft but audible. She stepped back to allow them entrance. “Please come in. Would you like some tea? I was just about to make some for myself.”

“Thank you.” Purdey stepped inside, followed by Gambit, and Mrs. Sands closed the door behind them, before hurrying toward the kitchen.

“Please make yourselves comfortable,” she said, just before she disappeared from view. “I won’t be a moment.”

Purdey treated her to another warm smile, and let her go. Sometimes she’d offer to help, but she could tell in Mrs. Sands’ case that the woman would welcome both the distraction and the opportunity to compose herself before the questioning. She looked over her shoulder to see what Gambit was doing, and found him poking around what had to be Sands’ desk. “Gambit,” she hissed. “Steed told us to talk to her, not turn her flat over. It’s already been searched.”

“He didn’t tell us not to look around, either,” Gambit pointed out, glancing up momentarily from his task. “And they can miss things. Besides, it gives us some context.” He picked up a framed photo on the desk, showed it to Purdey. It was of a much younger Mr. and Mrs. Sands, obviously on their wedding day.

“They look happy,” Purdey observed.

Gambit turned the picture over and examined it. “Probably were. Doesn’t mean they are now.”

“He keeps it on his desk. That must count for something.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Purdey’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “You’re very cynical today.”

Gambit put the picture down. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Purdey asserted, as he crossed the living area to join her. “You’ve been in a mood since the drive down. And before you say it, I don’t think it’s jet lag.”

“Then I can’t help you,” Gambit said flatly. “But if you’ve got another explanation, I’m all ears.” He ignored Purdey’s puzzled frown and turned his attention to the kitchen door. “Thank you, Mrs. Sands.”

“Not at all.” The older woman had returned bearing a tray laden with tea things. She set it down on the coffee table, seated herself in an armchair, and proceeded to pour. Gambit and Purdey took the couch opposite, fielding questions about milk and lemon as gently as possible in an effort to help her relax as much as possible, even if that was going to prove a near-impossible task given that she’d just turned in her husband.

Once the tea was straightened out, and they’d each taken a couple of sips, Purdey gently broached the subject at hand. “Mrs. Sands, I realise this is very difficult for you, but if we’re going to help your husband, it’s very important that you answer our questions as best you can.”

Mrs. Sands nodded. “Yes, of course. I know the procedure. Although I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I don’t have anything left to say that I haven’t already told the others that came before you.”

“It can seem very repetitive,” Purdey agreed. “But sometimes new things occur to you in subsequent interviews. Even the way the questions are phrased can give us a new lead.” As per an unspoken understanding, Gambit was keeping quiet. Though neither of them particularly enjoyed playing to type, the fact was that, in certain circumstances, an interviewee simply wouldn’t take questions seriously if they came from Purdey, but would if they were backed up by a grim-looking Gambit. Equally, no matter how kind and understanding Gambit was, some people only saw a young man whom they automatically regarded with suspicion, and thus were more receptive to Purdey. The latter scenario seemed more likely to be in effect in this case, and thus Gambit was letting Purdey take the lead, doing his best to look as unobtrusive as possible while trying not to spill tea on the carpet. Purdey thought the image of Gambit with a delicate, hand-painted bone china cup and saucer balanced on his knee ought to put a dent in any persona Mrs. Sands may have assigned her colleague, right up to “hardened killer”. Purdey herself was having difficulty resisting the urge to smile at the sight, but Mrs. Sands looked as though she could be easily upset no matter how softly he spoke or much Earl Grey he drank. Purdey elected to play it safe. After all, Mrs. Sands had no way of knowing he faithfully fed a sparrow every morning.

“Mrs. Sands, can you tell me what happened last night?” Purdey asked gently. 

The older woman nodded. “George came home at the usual time. He seemed normal. Not tense or evasive. Sometimes he brings his works home in his satchel. Low-level security files that he’s allowed to take from the building. He looks at them before bed. I saw him take them out and put them in a drawer in his desk, just as he always does. But I could tell there was something different about them. When he took them out, I saw red labels on the covers. I may not work for a top-secret department, but I’ve learned enough from George to know that red labels mean ‘most secret’, and you aren’t to remove them from the building under any circumstances. All the files George brought home had green labels, so these caught my eye. I knew something was wrong.”

“What did you do next?” Purdey’s voice was calm, soothing, but the questions urged her to continue.

“I was shaken. I didn’t want to believe George had done it, or if he had that he’d done it on purpose. I certainly didn’t want to think why. But I knew I had to see for myself, just to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.” She fiddled idly with her teacup. “So I waited until he was sat down to dinner, then I told him I had something I needed to attend to in the kitchen. I left him and I—“ She covered her eyes with her hands. “I betrayed his trust. I looked at the files. My own husband! And I spied on him. What kind of a woman does such a thing? And what makes it worse is that I was right. They were top secret files. I saw them with my own eyes.”

“And what did you do once you found them, Mrs. Sands?” Purdey pressed gently.

“I rang George’s office,” she murmured back. “Heaven help me. I reported my own husband as a traitor.”

“Why?” Purdey wanted to know. “Why didn’t you ask him about them first, or try to hide them, or simply say nothing? Didn’t you want to protect him?”

“Of course!” She sounded outraged, and her expression confirmed it. “I thought of all of that—hiding them, talking to him, lying for him. But what good would that have done? What if he didn’t listen, or he was in too deep to stop, or they found out anyway? No. It would have caught up to him, to us, sooner or later. I reported him because I thought it was the best way to help him, stop him before he made it worse, or ended up killed, or killed himself, or got caught. I thought you might be able to help him more than I could.” She buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what to do. It was the only help I knew how to give.”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Sands,” Purdey soothed, reaching out to rest a reassuring hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “You made the right decision by asking for help, for both your sake and George’s.”

Mrs. Sands peeked through her fingers at Purdey. “Do you really think so?” she asked tremulously.

“Of course.” Purdey’s smile was kind. “Now, do you need a moment, or do you feel up to answering a few more questions?”

Mrs. Sands removed her hands from her face, and nodded. “I’ll be all right,” she sniffled, blotting away her tears with a handkerchief she had stashed up her sleeve. “What would you like to know?”

“Has George seemed worried in the last few weeks? Anxious? As though he were frightened of someone?”

She shook her head. “No, I hadn’t noticed anything different about him. We were as happy as we’d ever been. That was why it was so surprising. If I’d suspected, it might be understandable. But this…there was no warning.”

“And you say you were happy? There’s been no change in your marriage or family life?”

“None,” she stated emphatically. “I mean, there was the marriage counsellor, but that doesn’t really count.”

“Marriage counsellor?” Gambit spoke up for the first time, and Purdey started slightly in surprise. He’d been so still and silent beside her, it was almost as though he wasn’t there. Almost. He was the reassuring presence by her side, double-checking everything she observed and drawing his own, separate set of conclusions, but clearly he felt that they were on to something significant enough to risk upsetting Mrs. Sands to get to it. “What marriage counsellor?” he asked, keeping his tone even. 

Mrs. Sands looked anxious, as though she was afraid she’d said something wrong. “Well, it’s your department, isn’t it? Or George’s. They’ve asked their married staff to engage in marriage counselling to try and prevent their home lives from interfering with their work. You know how they’re always muddling in your private life for security reasons”

Purdey and Gambit exchanged sceptical glances. “When was this?” Purdey inquired.

“Oh, it started about two months ago. George received a memo saying all married staff were required to report to a Dr. Smith for sessions. We went half a dozen times. It was never meant to be more than short-term.”

“And were there any problems?” Purdey wanted to know.

“Oh, no. Dr. Smith said we had a very strong marriage. He said we were made for each other.” She cast her eyes downward. “I wonder what he’d say now.”

Purdey and Gambit exchanged glances again. “Mrs. Sands,” Purdey asked slowly. “When did you last see the marriage counsellor?”

She thought for a moment, a frown darkening her features. “Well, it must be four days now. It was three yesterday. That seems so long ago, but I suppose that’s to be expected. Time’s taken on a different meaning since last night.” She smiled weakly. “But he wouldn’t have changed my mind about what I did.”

“And you haven’t been approached or threatened by anyone at all?” Purdey pressed.

“No,” Mrs. Sands repeated. “No, nothing, I promise you. I saw what I saw, and I acted as best I could.” She shrugged. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“All right.” Purdey set down her tea cup on the coffee table. “Thank you, Mrs. Sands. I think that’s all we need for the moment.” She looked to Gambit, who nodded his agreement. “Thank you for being so helpful. We’ll do our best to try and get to the bottom of Mr. Sands’ situation.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Sands said genuinely as they rose. “Thank you. It gives me solace to know that there is at least a chance that you’ll find a way to clear him. I can’t conceive of George doing this. I really can’t.”

“We’ll do our best, Mrs. Sands,” Purdey assured, taking a card from her purse. “If you think of anything else, call us. Either one of us or Steed will be in touch.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Sands said, clasping the card to her chest. “Thank you.”

VVVV

When they were out of the house, and the front door was safely shut behind them, Purdey looked to Gambit. “Well?” she inquired, falling into step beside him.

Gambit shook his head. “You first.”

“She seemed genuine,” Purdey declared, watching their feet fall naturally into sync as they walked. “She didn’t seem to be hiding anything, or lying. Everything she said was the truth, as far as she knew it. She was definitely upset, but that’s understandable when her husband may be imprisoned for treason.”

“Yes,” Gambit agreed, looking thoughtful. “It’s the stuff she doesn’t know that worries me.”

Purdey frowned. “What do you mean?”

Gambit shook his head. “I’m not sure. But something’s not right, even if it’s not Mrs. Sands. I can feel it.”

“Instinct?”

Gambit nodded. Purdey wasn’t about to discount it. Steed was always telling them to cultivate it.

“Well, if that’s the case, let’s hope Steed’s instinct gives us more to go on,” she replied, just before they got back in the car, bound for London.

VVVV

**Five days later**

Steed was waiting in the corridor when Dr. James Kendrick stepped out of his examination room. He leaned in to speak to the doctor, face lined with concern. “How is she, Kendrick?”

Kendrick plunged his hands into the pockets of his white coat with a sigh. “Physically, she’s fine. Marks on her wrists where she was restrained. Cuts and bruises from going through the window. The sedation drugs have successfully cleared her system, and there are no complications as far as I can see.”

“But...?” Steed could see by the look in the doctor’s eyes that the other shoe had yet to drop.

Kendrick cast a backwards look at the closed door, mouth pursed, before turning back to Steed. “She’s in extreme shock,” he said flatly. “By the time you brought her in, she was practically numb with it. I could barely raise a response from her throughout the entire examination. If I got a monosyllabic answer, I considered myself lucky.”

Steed nodded in agreement. “She was halfway there when I found her. I think she used up the last of her strength telling me what happened. By the time we were on our way to London, she’d shut down completely.”

“It’s difficult to blame her after what she’s been through,” Kendrick opined, concern battling with disbelief in his eyes. “Do you think what she says is true? About Gambit?”

Steed passed a hand over his forehead. “I’ve been asking myself the same question,” he admitted. “I don’t want to believe it, and as long as we don’t have a body, there’s no way to confirm it.” He paused and drummed his fingers on the crown of his bowler, clutched in his right hand with an iron grip.

“But...?” It was Kendrick’s turn to wait for the other shoe.

Steed ceased his drumming, wishing that he could have left things where they were, but it was part of his job to consider all the possibilities. Even the terrible ones.

“Purdey swears she saw it happen,” he murmured. “And with such conviction that it’s nigh on impossible to think she’s lying. More importantly, she has no reason to lie. She’s possibly the last person on the planet who’d wish it to be true, even if she’d never admit it.”

“Her body’s admitting it for her,” Kendrick said grimly. “I’d keep her overnight for observation, except I think she’d fare better in familiar surroundings with a friend to keep her company. You wouldn’t mind taking her back to the farm with you? Security protocol won’t let me discharge her to her family, and she certainly shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Of course I’ll take her,” Steed said, without hesitation. “Perhaps she’ll say something that will clear things up once she’s had some time to think on it.”

“It may be quite a long time,” Kendrick predicted. “She believes he’s dead, Steed. I’m convinced of that. And I doubt anything less than Gambit walking through the door will make her believe otherwise.”

“The remains from the explosion just might,” Steed contradicted. “There most definitely was a body in that house, but it was very near the centre of the explosion. As a consequence, pieces may be...missing.” He swallowed the word, unaccustomed to the sensation of vomit trying to creep up his esophagus. He thought he’d beaten that unwanted biological reaction in the early days of his career. “Assuming they don’t belong to Gambit, it could prove that he’s still alive. They’ll be in the morgue just as soon as the clean-up crew has finished.”

“I’ll do my best to make a positive identification, but in that state, it’ll be difficult to make out much of anything,” Kendrick told him. “I’m so sorry, John. For all our sakes, I hope if I do manage to identify them that it’s someone else.”

“We won’t know anything for certain until you’ve checked,” Steed said tonelessly, returning his bowler to his head. “First, we’d better see about Purdey.”

Kendrick nodded once, following Steed’s lead and using professionalism as a shield. “She should have a blanket on her during the drive out. I’ll lend you one of ours.”


	4. Legwork & The Field

When they arrived at the stud farm, Steed saw Purdey safely upstairs, and waited for the sound of the shower before he allowed himself the luxury of a long sigh and a rub of his temples. It had been a day full of uncertainty, fear, confusion, and grief. He still didn’t know quite what to make of it all, or whether he believed Purdey’s story. She certainly believed it, but he wasn’t prepared to let the matter lie.

He moved from the stairs, through the dining room, and into the living area, poured himself a large brandy, and took a mouthful that was a just a touch too generous to give the flavour the studied consideration it deserved. He swirled the liquid around the balloon, hoping it would provide him with some answers. 

Gambit. Dead. It was too awful to even contemplate. Steed pictured the young man he’d seen only this morning—vital, active, engaged. Alive. Gambit had been prepared to see this assignment through to the end, knew the risks, though none of them had contemplated the sudden twist that had seen Gambit and Purdey abducted. And certainly none of them had considered the possibility that Gambit wouldn’t see the day out alive.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. Steed knew as well as anyone that every time an agent took on an assignment, there was a high probability that he or she wouldn’t survive to write up the report afterwards. But it was easy, when particular agents saw dozens of missions through with their lives and bodies still relatively intact, to expect the pattern to continue. Staying alive became a habit, and there was no reason to expect its adherents to break it. That didn’t make a lick of sense, of course. Anyone could die at any time, for any reason. No one was immortal, least of all Steed, and definitely not Gambit. But in his time with the younger man, Steed had always thought he was too committed to hanging onto life, enjoyed the ride too much, to let it go without a fight. And Gambit had certainly come through more than his share of life-threatening situations, both before and during his work with Steed. Gambit himself had joked that, considering the exploits of his youth, he never should have lived to see twenty. Now, at thirty-four, Purdey was telling Steed that Gambit’s luck had finally run out. Steed had made peace with the bullet with his name on it long ago, but there was something about a man—a friend--over two decades younger than him shuffling off this mortal coil that he found impossible to accept. And he wouldn’t. Not until Steed had irrefutable evidence that told him otherwise. It was the least he could do. He knew Gambit would do the same for him.

A creaking on the stairs signalled Purdey’s arrival, and Steed turned just in time to see her trudge the length of the dining area, only to flop down onto Steed’s couch with little grace. Her limbs looked heavy, as though she carried the weight of the world with her. Steed knew she did. Her hair was damp and untidy, and she was clad in a pair of electric blue pyjamas, the same ones she’d run around a London sleeping in during the S-95 debacle. Her face was scrubbed of make-up, which made her look younger and tireder, and also that much sadder. She found the blanket draped over the back of the couch, and tugged it down to cover her lap. She said, in a voice that was almost too steady, “I need a drink.”

“Did you take the sedatives Kendrick prescribed?” Steed inquired, resting a protective hand on the tray containing his wide assortment of liquor.

“Yes,” Purdey admitted, voice drained of all emotion. “Two.”

“Then I’m afraid a drink is off-limits, at least for now,” Steed said firmly, but his expression was sympathetic. “But sleep isn’t. You have your choice of rooms.”

Purdey shook her head. “I’m not going to bed,” she told him. “And I’m not going to sleep. If I sleep, I’ll have to close my eyes, and every time I do, I see Mike’s face. His body. All the blood.” She shuddered, and hugged herself tightly. “I don’t know which is worse—his face just before he died, or right after. He was yelling at me to run. He looked terrified, but he wasn’t afraid for himself. He was afraid for me.” She covered her face with her hands. “And when they shot him, all the emotion drained out, just like the blood. And he looked...oh, Steed. It hardly looked like him. All the life, everything that made him look the way he did, it just...vanished.” She scrubbed away fresh tears angrily. “And everything he was went with it. And I can’t face that again, Steed. Not tonight.”

“All right,” Steed agreed, moving to sit in the armchair across from her. “You can stay on the couch, and I’ll stay up with you.”

Purdey regarded him with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “You don’t seem very upset,” she accused, betrayal etched across her face. “Don’t you care that Mike’s gone?” 

“Of course I do,” Steed said calmly. “If he’s gone, the loss is insurmountable. But I’m not prepared to accept Gambit’s fate just yet, even though you seem quite certain he’s no longer with us.”

Purdey’s mouth tightened. “And you seem quite certain he’s still alive,” she shot back. “But I was there, Steed. I saw him die. I know what happened. I’m certain of it.”

Steed held up a soothing hand. “And I believe you. I believe that you saw what you saw. Far be it from me to discredit an eyewitness, especially when it’s you.” He sipped his brandy. “But I’ve come to realise over the years that, more often than not, there’s something at work beyond what we think we saw, and it’s very important to find it. I think you saw Gambit shot. But I’m not entirely certain that was all there was to see. Don’t accept anything at face value.”

Purdey gaped at him. “Steed,” she said slowly, as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I saw him die. I have no reason to want him dead. It’s the last thing I wanted.” She choked back more tears. “What could I possibly have missed?”

“I understand it’s difficult,” Steed reassured. “I know you were in the middle of it. It’s impossible for you to be objective, especially in light of the shock and trauma. That’s why you need an objective eye, someone to look at it from all the wrong angles, which may just turn out to be the right ones.”

“Such as?” Purdey wanted to know.

Steed considered his brandy. “First of all, why weren’t you pursued after you went through the window? If they were desperate enough to kill Gambit to keep you in check, I would have thought they’d chase you down rather than let you go as soon as you were out of range. For that matter, why kill Gambit at all? With him dead, you had no reason to surrender. He was worth much more to them alive, as a hostage, to draw you back into the fold. And then there’s the small matter of the explosion. Did they mean to use it to destroy the body, or did they take Gambit with them? And if so, why?” He managed a small smile, and Purdey’s visage darkened further. “Small things, perhaps. Possibly meaningless. But you must admit they are valid questions, and we owe it to Gambit to chase down every possibility, don’t you agree?”

Purdey’s visage cleared, and she looked down and picked at the blanket. “Yes,” she admitted, finally. “He’d do the same for us.”

Steed nodded, once, satisfied that he’d brought her onside. “There we are, then.”

“But you have to promise, if we don’t find anything, you’ll let me lay him to rest,” Purdey added, quite seriously. “If we can’t...if there’s nothing left of him to identify...” She swallowed hard. “I want to make a statement. I want him declared officially dead, and have his file closed. I want to tell his family, so they can have a proper memorial. I want his things to go to someone who will take care of them, and remember him. Not shuffled into storage. I want him to have closure, Steed. He wouldn’t want to linger on, just a statistic, an entry, ‘missing believed killed.’ He deserves more than that.” Her eyes were burning brightly, determined. “He wasn’t just an agent, Steed. He was Mike.”

“Agreed,” Steed concurred. “And I promise you, if he is gone, we’ll accord him every honour. But I’m not prepared to let him go just yet.”

“All right,” Purdey murmured, suddenly irresistibly tired. “I think...I’ll just lie down for a moment. Will you stay, Steed?”

Steed’s smile was kind. “‘Til the end, Purdey.”

VVV

Five days earlier

“Steed! You’re a sight for sore eyes,” George Sands exclaimed as the senior agent settled into the chair opposite him in the interrogation room.

“I hope I manage to be rather more than a sight,” Steed said genuinely. “What’s going on, George? It would have been surprising for anyone in your department to be caught up in something like this, but you?”

Sands shook his head and spread his arms wide. “Not me, Steed, I promise you. I know it sounds like a cliché, but in all honesty I have no idea where those files came from. I signed out files, but not at that security level. I was working on the files they found in my desk, but only in the office--I never would have dreamt of taking them out of the building, not in a million years.”

“Could you have done it by accident? Absently taken the wrong folders?” Steed suggested.

“No, no, never,” George dismissed. “I’m careful about that sort of thing. You know me.”

“I thought I did.”

“You still do!” George leaned forward. “Listen, Steed, I’m as surprised as anyone. I don’t know what to say. When Maud called in the security boys, I didn’t know what to do. I understand why Maud did it, and I believe the files were there, but I haven’t the foggiest idea where they came from, and that’s the truth.”

“All right.” Steed’s gaze was level, tone non-committal. “Let’s put all that aside. Have you been approached by anyone? Threatened? Seen anything suspicious within your department?”

Sands shook his head. “Nothing. If I’m being got at, I’m the last to know.”

“What about Maud? Has she been acting oddly? Has she received any communications that seemed suspect?”

“No, no, nothing like that. We’ve been perfectly happy. We’re seeing the marriage counsellor, of course, but that’s department mandated.”

Steed frowned. “Marriage counsellor?”

“Yes, they sent out a memo. Married staff only. We went a few times, Maud and I, to keep the bureaucrats happy.”

“And did you learn anything?”

“Just that we’re happy. Nothing earth-shattering.”

“And yet she reported you for having stolen the files,” Steed pointed out mildly.

“That’s exactly what I’d expect her to do in that position—try and save me from myself before I could talk her out of it! I can be a stubborn so-and-so, and she knows it.” Sands smiled momentarily with pride. “And I don’t blame her for it. I only don’t understand how the files could have gotten into my desk. That I have no idea about. But whatever’s going on is nothing to do with me or Maud. And that’s why I’m so glad to see you, Steed. If anyone can get to the bottom of it, it’s you.”

Steed was watching and listening carefully, gauging George’s emphasis on every word, and interpreting the significance behind every gesture. “All right,” he said finally. “I am looking into it, and I promise I’ll do everything in my power to get to the bottom of it. But until I clear you, if I can clear you, you’re going to be in custody. You know that.”

Sands nodded. “Of course. It’s the standard procedure. I’d expect nothing less.”

“Good.” Steed rose from the table. “I’ll contact you if I have something concrete. Until then, sit tight. And if you remember anything, let me know.”

“Of course,” George repeated, smiling with gratitude, as Steed turned toward the door. “John?” he added, just before Steed quit the room, and Steed glanced back over his shoulder. “Thanks.” Steed only nodded and left. He couldn’t promise anything more.

VVV

Purdey and Gambit were waiting for him in the corridor outside the interrogation division when Steed finished. They moved toward him as he passed through security, and out into the waiting area. “Well?” he inquired as they approached. “What did you make of Maud?”

Gambit glanced at Purdey, who nodded her assent, then spoke. “We asked her if she knew what it was about, or if she thought George was being got at, and she doesn’t. As far as we can tell, she’s telling us the truth.”

“We don’t think she’s being got at, either,” Purdey added. “Did you have any luck with George?”

Steed looked ruefully over his shoulder, toward the interrogation room, then turned back and shook his head. “Nothing. Instinct tells me that George was being truthful as well. If it’s not either of them, it doesn’t leave us with many leads.”

“Maud mentioned a marriage counsellor,” Purdey informed. “Could that be significant?”

“It might. George said the same. He said there was a memo sent out. If we’re lucky, it might still be in his office.”

“Won’t know until we look,” Gambit agreed. “Your car’s still not here, Purdey. Who are you riding with?”

Purdey put a finger to her lips in thought. “Let’s find out, shall we?” she said coyly. “Eenie, meenie, minie, mo.”

VVV

Purdey wound up back in Gambit’s car, and they followed Steed all the way back to the building housing George Sands’ department. A few inquiries and a security man with the right key gained them entry into the man’s office. They were assured that all of Sands’ papers were still contained within, the agents assigned to investigate warned off from disturbing the contents by Steed himself. The senior agent knew better than anyone that where something was found was just as important as what was found. This meant that all of Sands’ papers were exactly where he had left them.

The downside was that Sands, while fastidious and organised, had apparently thought it important to retain every piece of paper he had ever received in the course of his work, and Purdey and Gambit’s hearts sank at the sight of a desk laden with stacks and stacks of files, bolstered by a neat row of filing cabinets along the back wall, the capacity of which appeared to be soul-crushingly large.

“Steed…” Purdey began, eyes flicking sideways toward her boss with mild annoyance.

“Yes, George is a bit of a pack rat,” Steed confirmed cheerfully.

“Now you tell us,” Gambit muttered. “If I’d known I was set for an all-nighter, I would have brought a flask and some provisions.”

“Come now, it shouldn’t take too long,” Steed said brightly, striding to the desk and setting his bowler and brolly on the surface. “And look on the bright side. If George saves everything, then he must still have the memo.”

“Right,” Gambit said faintly. “The bright side.” He looked at Purdey. “Desk or filing cabinet?”

“Desk,” Purdey decided, with a sigh, even as Steed settled into the office chair. “If it’s a recent memo, it’s more likely to be there anyway.”

“But we should cover all the angles,” Gambit said knowingly, looking to Steed. “Right?”

Steed beamed at his younger compatriots. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

That was the last pertinent piece of information Steed’s colleagues gleaned from him for quite some time. He lapsed into a thoughtful silence not long after Purdey and Gambit began scouring the office for the memo, eyes distant and brow furrowed. Purdey and Gambit let him be, knowing he was pondering the whys and wherefores of his friend’s possible betrayal.

In the end, it was Purdey who found the memo, half-covered by another, more recent notice, dog-eared but definitely readable. She removed it carefully from the stack she’d been searching, crawling out from beneath the desk, under which she’d made herself a cosy little work area when perching on the end of the desk proved to be less-than-comfortable. “I’ve got it,” she exclaimed, sticking her arm out and waving the paper in front of Steed’s abdomen as she disentangled herself from the files she’d been reading. Steed and Gambit crowded around as she climbed to her feet, and the three read the contents in silence.

“It’s just what Mrs. Sands said,” Gambit observed when he’d finished. “A general order for all married employees.”

“So it would seem,” Steed murmured, tapping his umbrella against his chin in thought. “I wonder.” He rose abruptly and left the office, started off down the hall, leaving Purdey and Gambit to hurriedly lock up the office and trail in his wake.

“Where are we going, Steed?” Purdey wanted to know, catching up to the man and falling into step beside him.

“I want to know who exactly had that memo written up and distributed,” Steed told her, shaking his head when she consulted the piece of paper in her hands. “I know what it says on there, but I’d like to be certain. They’ll have a record of it, but I don’t know that they’ll surrender it to someone outside their department without full clearance.”

Purdey smiled broadly. “I think you ought to let me do the asking.”

VVV

In the end, Steed and Gambit lurked out in the corridor, trying to look inconspicuous, while Purdey went into the records office and worked her charms. Steed regarded the younger man with mild interest.

“How are things?” Steed asked conversationally, as though he were doing nothing more than killing time, but Gambit knew Steed better than that.

“What do you mean by ‘things’?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh, you know. Work. Family. Relationships.”

“Relationships?” Gambit arched an eyebrow. “Are you worried I’m having trouble getting dates?”

Steed widened his eyes comically. “Certainly not.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“Well, as a purely hypothetical example, is there something you and I ought to talk about?”

Gambit pulled a face. “No. At least, I hope not.”

Steed smiled. “I didn’t think so. What about you and Purdey? Is there anything, ah, going on, I should know about?”

Gambit didn’t respond right away, but looked elsewhere with studied indifference. “There definitely isn’t anything going on between me and Purdey,” he said, but in a way that hinted that he wasn’t entirely happy about that state of affairs.

Before Steed could pursue the matter, Purdey herself emerged from the file room. She looked from one of her colleagues to the other with interest as she noted their respective expressions. 

“What’s going on?” she inquired.

“Nothing, it seems,” Steed told her, glancing meaningfully at Gambit, who pretended not to notice the significance of the way he had worded his reply. “Did you find anything?”

Purdey smiled secretively. “Well, strictly speaking, I shouldn’t have gotten anywhere. Luckily, the clerk took a shine to me, and I was able to look at some of their files.”

“What did that cost you?” Gambit quipped, and Purdey shot him a look.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said coyly, turning to Steed. “I had them search everywhere. There’s no record of that memo ever being issued to this department, or any department for that matter. As far as anyone can tell, it doesn’t exist.”

“Which means it was planted,” Gambit deduced. “That’s what you think, don’t you Steed? Someone wanted Sands and his colleagues pouring their lives out to…” He took the memo from Purdey, who still had it clutched in her grasp, and located the name of the so-called marriage counsellor. “…Dr. Smith.”

“The possibility did cross my mind,” Steed agreed thoughtfully. “And it bears looking into, no matter how tangential its relationship to George’s current situation. I want you to identify every married employee in George’s department, and I want to know if they’ve been seeing Dr. Smith. Also whether they’ve had any…disturbances…in their relationships since they began their sessions. You may want to look into Dr. Smith as well. I’d like to know what his background is, and whether he’s really a doctor. Meet me at the farm first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll go over your findings.”

Gambit nodded smartly. “Right.”

“What will you be doing, Steed?” Purdey wanted to know.

Steed smiled mysteriously. “I’ve a sudden urge to marry someone,” he said with cheerful nonchalance, then took his leave before his bewildered young colleagues could question him further. 

VVV

Six days later

Pale morning light slipped through a crack in the curtains, and cut a swath across Purdey’s equally pale, sleeping face. She stirred, head moving gently from side to side on the pillow she didn’t remember putting under her head. Purdey frowned, still half-asleep, eyes still shut tight. It wasn’t just the pillow. She couldn’t remember much of anything from the night before, but she had a feeling she should.

She finally cracked open her eyes, squinting against the light, and found herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, one that definitely didn’t belong to her basement flat. She blinked at it uncomprehendingly, but it still took her a few moments for her to identify it as the ceiling of Steed’s living room. Why she was there still eluded her. The frown deepened.

She sat up, gingerly, her head protesting with the sort of headache that came from dehydration. That tallied with her parched mouth. Her tongue felt like sandpaper, and tasted about as palatable. It was still preferable to the awful, hollow feeling in her chest, like someone had scooped out her insides. She propped herself up on her elbows and lower arms and looked around vaguely, realising suddenly that she was stretched out on Steed’s couch, a blanket pulled over her form, with her elbows digging into the aforementioned pillow. A quick examination of her form revealed that she was clad in a pair of pyjamas. She didn’t remember putting them on.

There were no other sounds in the house, save the ticking of the clock on Steed’s mantle, and the distant whinny of a horse in the stable. If someone else was in the house, they weren’t awake yet, or at the very least weren’t up and about. She pulled the blanket off her legs, and swung them over the edge of the couch, braced herself there with her hands, tried to remember. Her mind was maddeningly fuzzy, the entire last 24 hours concealed in an all-encompassing haze. She thought hard for a moment, then gave up. From experience, she knew it would come on its own. Pushing the issue would only make things worse.

She rose, padding across the living area on bare feet to cross to the French doors, and the not-completely-closed curtains. She parted them with the backs of her hands, gazed out over the vast grounds behind Steed’s manor house. The grass was green, but the sky was grey--not a dark grey signalling rain, but a light, bland, depressing grey, dropped like a curtain over the house. Or a mourning shroud. The phrase caught in Purdey’s mind like a burr, and stuck there, digging in, delivering a sudden shock to the system.

Gambit’s dead.

She nearly collapsed as the memories came rushing back, unhindered by her mind’s futile attempt to protect itself, and it took all her strength to stay upright and not howl loud enough to wake any and all occupants of the house. She pressed her palms against the glass of the French doors, bracing herself, head bowed, needing the support. She wanted to cry, but there were no tears left. She was all cried out, at least for now, and she struck her fist uselessly against the glass, cursing her own body for failing her at the time she most needed a release.

Suddenly, the living room seemed cramped, claustrophobic. She needed out, needed space. She turned abruptly and dashed to the hall closet, threw it open, found a coat and a pair of boots she’d left there once upon a time for convenience’s sake. She slammed the closet door shut again before her eyes could linger on Gambit’s rarely-used mac, occupying the same closet, and pulled the boots on, shrugging on the coat over her pyjamas, before retracing her steps and opening the French doors to step out onto the veranda, then carry on into the field.

Her pyjama bottoms were too long, and they dragged into the grass, wet with dew, becoming soaked in the process. Her pace was slow, steady, but determined. She walked away from the house, trying to flee from her grief. In the early morning mist, she was a slight figure: crossed arms, hunched shoulders, head bowed to watch her feet cut a path through the grass.

If there had been anyone around to observe her, they would have thought she was mad. Maybe she was going mad. Grief could lead to madness, she knew. She’d had more than her share of experience with the emotion, of the tolls that loss could take on a body. First the death of her father, something she knew, without question, had left its mark on her. But she’d picked herself up from that, and, determined to move on, had tried to build a new life for herself. Larry was another loss, a different loss—the loss of a chance at the life she had strived to build. She’d had to restart again from scratch, to mend the destruction left in his wake. When Larry reemerged, he had brought that loss back again, and added to it with his death. And Purdey, to a certain, though lesser, extent, had had to rebuild things once more, had to fight to mend her frayed friendships, her career. Now here she was, once more confronted by grief, and forced to pick herself up again, to put the pieces back together into something she could call a life. Her enthusiasm for that particular task was waning. 

She’d always known this could happen, had known the chances were better than slim. In their line of work, any or all of them could die any day, whether in the heat of a gun fight on an assignment, or quietly from a poisoned drink in their own flats. It was a reality, one they confronted every time one of their fellow agents gave his life in the line of duty, or one of them had a particularly close call. But as Steed was wont to say, you closed the file. You moved on. Dwelling on it wouldn’t make it any better, or easier. And yet, in spite of it all, she was in a strange sort of denial about it all, had never really believed that Gambit or Steed would die. They’d been lucky so many times, survived so many attempts on their lives, that it was easy to decide that they were indestructible, which made it all the harder to process when she thought they really were gone for good.

There was only one time that she’d really, truly believed Gambit was dead for any extended period. It was the case concerning the doubles, perfect doppelgangers surgically altered by a certain Dr. Praetor to step seamlessly into the lives of high-ranking agents and residents of Whitehall. Purdey had come face-to-face with the man she believed to be Gambit’s double, “Terry Walton,” and discovered just too late that “Terry” had paid Gambit a visit and gunned him down in cold blood. Purdey felt as though the world had dropped out from beneath her, and what followed in the next two or so hours was a blur of frantically trying to work out who to tell and what to do, while desperately trying to resist the urge to be violently sick (successfully), and to keep the flood of tears at bay (less so). She never told Gambit or Steed that she had to stop her car en route to report to Craig (who had been replaced himself at that point, though she didn’t know it at the time) because she thought she really was going to be sick all over the upholstery. In the end she wasn’t, but spent a good ten minutes crying her eyes out before pulling herself together to meet Craig. It wasn’t her finest moment, but it hurt so badly that she needed the release, needed to mourn, even a little, before she finished her duties as an agent and could officially be let off the hook to mourn as a friend. She didn’t have time to dwell on the enormity of his loss, but she knew enough to realise what she’d lost. “If he was here right now, I’d—“ That was what she’d screamed at “Walton”, just before he’d outed himself as the real Gambit. She was never entirely certain how she would have finished that sentence given the chance. It was coming out so quickly, from a place deep and raw and honest that she’d been hiding from herself for so long, and she covered it over quickly just as soon as she knew Gambit was alive and well. But she’d had time to think about it—really think--in the past twenty-four hours. The words came easily to her lips now, but she had no one to say them to. 

She kicked the ground angrily. What did she do now? When her father died, she had chosen to focus on her career as a dancer—that was her path. Then, when Larry came, it was a family and a home life she was ultimately striving for. After Larry, and then her abrupt dismissal from the ballet, she’d had to recalibrate. By 1975, her goal was to become a top Ministry agent. She’d done that, or was doing that—she supposed it was an ongoing thing. But that also necessitated being part of a team, her team, and with Gambit gone, that team was no more. There was Steed, of course. There was always Steed. They could carry on, as a partnership, or add someone new, though that seemed like sacrilege at this point in time. She didn’t even know if she wanted the job any longer, if she could do it without feeling Gambit’s ghost over her shoulder at every turn. But more than that, as she stood out in that field, she came to the realisation that, recently, she’d quit focussing solely on the team and the job. She had, consciously or unconsciously, been building something between her and Gambit for some time. An endgame that she rarely overtly admitted to herself, but that had always existed. She’d always thought there would be time for it. Time to straighten out her feelings. Time to come to terms with her past and what she had in the present. Time to say things in something other than jest.

But there was no time now. None. Not for anything. Not for Gambit, not for her. Not for them. Not ever. And she had only herself to blame.

She kicked, stomped the ground again, angry at the world, and Smith, but most of all herself. She’d had chances, lots of chances.

The urge to cry washed over her again, but there were still no tears. She looked up at the sky, the grey reflecting what she felt on the inside, as though the weather could sense her pain and had chosen to be sympathetic, complementing her shade for shade. She realised she was rapidly running out of Steed’s back yard, so to speak, and stopped. There were woods up ahead. She could probably lose herself in them for an hour or so, but what would be the point? She wasn’t going to find Gambit under an errant toadstool, though he’d probably have a terrible joke to make about the idea. She felt her mouth quirk up on one side as she pictured the expression on his face as he told it, felt her customary tsk rise to her lips. She was going to miss his bad jokes, just as much as she would everything else about him. She wasn’t certain when she was going to be able to laugh again, given the terrible numb feeling in her heart. 

Since she’d run out of field, there was nowhere to go but back again. Last time she’d taken a walk in a field, she’d worried she’d run into Larry’s body on the way back, but the clean-up crew had taken him away by then. The next thing she’d worried about was the others’ reaction, reflected in their eyes. Steed’s eyes, sympathetic, with the slightest tinge of recrimination for her actions. Gambit’s, concerned and begging her to forgive him. The only way she could see Gambit’s eyes now was to close her own, but that quickly dissolved into a picture of his lifeless features, so she tried to avoid picturing them. She could still see Steed’s eyes, though, which was something. He would worry if he found her missing, and she’d already caused him too much of that in the last twenty-four hours. Slowly, sadly, she turned back toward the house.

Steed was seated at the dining room table when she came in, fully dressed in a suit, with breakfast laid out on the table, and the newspaper in his lap. He looked up as she shut the French doors. “I thought you must have needed the fresh air,” he said by way of greeting, knowing better than to try a ‘good morning’ under the circumstances. “Though I was about to start a search if you didn’t return in the next quarter of an hour.” He watched Purdey discard her coat and leave it draped untidily over the back of the couch, before she slipped into the chair across from him, a waif in electric blue pyjamas. “How are you feeling?” he inquired, face creased in concern.

“How do you think?” Purdey replied bitterly, hugging herself as if it was desperately cold, despite the warmth of the house.

Steed nodded in understanding, indicated the toast rack. “Help yourself to some breakfast.”

Purdey shook her head. “I don’t want anything.” 

Steed didn’t press the issue, but she could tell that wouldn’t be the end of it. “Well, whenever the urge does strike, all you have to do is ask. Whatever you like.”

She managed a small nod of gratitude. “Thank you, Steed.”

“My pleasure.” He beamed at her, and she felt her spirits lift slightly. “Now, I realise that this is probably the last thing you’d like to discuss just now, but I think you should know where things stand. I’m having Kendrick examine the remains we found in the building, and there’s a team going over the site with a fine tooth comb. I’ve also put the word out to be on the lookout for Smith and Gambit. They’ll be checking in at regular intervals with their findings. I’d supervise the investigation in person, but I’m needed here.”

“To act as a babysitter,” Purdey finished glumly. “You don’t trust me to be alone, do you? You think I’ll do something rash.”

“To act as a friend,” Steed corrected. “And no, I don’t think you’re about to end it all, although you might feel like it in a particularly dark moment. But I do think you need some sort of support, and I’m not about to withhold it.”

Purdey turned a jaded eye on him. “What about you? You seem awfully cheerful. Don’t you need support, or are you putting on a brave front for my sake?”

“Neither of those alternatives is particularly applicable just now,” Steed said truthfully. “For the time being, I have no concrete evidence that Gambit is dead. As far as I’m concerned, he’s missing, believed captured, and I’ll continue believing it until someone gives me a reason to think otherwise.”

“But I saw him killed!” Purdey wailed, a measure of annoyance creeping into her voice. “I know he was dead. There was no way he could survive what Smith did to him.”

“Saw him killed, perhaps,” Steed amended, picking up the thread of their conversation from the nice before. “But there are ways that could have been faked. Or you, as the witness, misled.”

“You don’t believe me!” Purdey shot back in frustration. “I don’t know what I can say to persuade you, Steed. Why would I imagine he was killed, when all I want is for him to be alive? And if he’s not dead, why would Smith want him?”

“Any number of reasons,” Steed replied calmly. “Hostage. Interrogation. Sell him to the highest bidder.”

Purdey shook her head. “A dead hostage is no good to anyone. They must know that. And they know I saw them kill him, they know I escaped, so they must know you know. There’s no reason for them to fake it.” Her eyes bore into his, seemingly impassive. “Don’t you trust me?”

Steed reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Of course I trust you,” he soothed. “You saw what you saw. I don’t doubt that. But I’ve been in this business long enough to know that there are many, many ways to interpret the same sequence of events, and I want to be certain we don’t miss out on the other ways by stopping at your version. If we did, and it turned out that Gambit was still alive, and we left him to his fate, what sort of friend would that make me? Or you?” He held her gaze, trying to make her understand. “We owe it to Gambit to chase down every lead until we can be certain that there’s nothing left to chase. He was—is--our friend, and if we were in his place, I know he’d do the same for us. So yes, I am going to keep searching, and I’m also going to keep an eye on you, because whatever else Gambit might need if he’s still alive, it’s not someone rushing in to avenge him, endangering both his life and his rescuer’s in the process.” 

Purdey pulled her hand away. “I wouldn’t do that,” she murmured.

“Oh yes you would,” Steed contradicted, and Purdey looked up in surprise. “I’d be very worried if the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. It would certainly cross mine, and has, and it most definitely crossed Gambit’s when we thought we might lose you. But if it does come to that—and I sincerely hope it doesn’t—we’ll hunt Smith down properly, with a clear head and the sort of professionalism Gambit deserves. And at the moment I don’t think you’re capable of that, so I suppose at the moment I am babysitting you, but I think it’s all for a good cause.”

Purdey smirked in spite of herself. “You have it all worked out, don’t you?”

“I wish I did, but I believe I’m off to a good start,” Steed agreed cheerfully. “Now, can I tempt you with some breakfast?”

Purdey’s face fell again. “No,” she replied stubbornly. “No, I don’t think so.” She looked down at her dew-soaked pyjama bottoms. “A shower maybe. A warm one. Or a bath.” She could submerge in a bath, maybe forget everything for half an hour. Maybe. She rose. “You’ll be here when I come back down?”

“Of course,” Steed assured. “For as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, then fled up the stairs, because she’d suddenly reacquired the ability to cry.


	5. The Ruse & Canada

**_Five days earlier_ **

The next morning, Purdey and Gambit arrived at the stud farm, bickering cheerfully and bearing a large ream of files between them. Steed greeted them at the door and led them over to his desk, where he took a seat and spread his arms wide.

"What do you have for me?" he inquired.

"We did what you asked," Purdey began, hitching a hip onto the corner of the desk and setting the files on the surface beside her. "We went through all of the Sands' colleagues, and came up with four other married ones, all of whom confirm they attended marriage counselling with ."

Steed looked after expectantly. "And?"

"They all made for very interesting reading," Purdey commented as she picked up the first file. "We didn't come up with anything as serious as George Sands' so-called treason, but in all four cases there's been some sort of rupture between husband and wife in the past few months." She laid each one in front of Steed as she conveyed their content. "Rumours of a possible terminated pregnancy. Affairs with the secretary. Accusations of incompetence. A one-month suspension for dereliction of duty." She met Steed's eyes when he looked up from the small stack. "I know. All very corny and cliché and soap opera. But like George and Maud Sands, in all cases one spouse was the source of the information, and the other denies it categorically."

Steed smiled slightly at the comment, but chose to forgo his own bon mot. "And all of these couples saw Smith?"

"Yes," Purdey confirmed.

"Well, either the marriages were already in a state of disrepair, or Smith's record is atrocious."

"That's just it," Purdey replied. "They were all happily married, even by their own admission. None of them wanted these things to happen, and they're all absolutely devastated that they have. But since none of them have any reason to lie, everyone's chosen to believe the accusers rather than the deniers."

"Just like George and Maud," Steed murmured.

"Yes," Purdey agreed gravely. "Just like them."

"Then we ought to become better acquainted with Dr. Smith," Steed decided, nodding at his other colleague. "I assume that's where you come in, Gambit."

Gambit flashed a lightning quick smile in agreement. "I went and dug up everything I could find on Smith's background. It wasn't easy because he's moved around a lot, but I worked all night at it and pieced this much together." He set his stack of files next to Purdey's and opened the top one. "Dr. Reginald Smith. Has a Ph.D. in chemistry, good school reports. Parents dead, no siblings. He's worked for various drug companies, but he keeps parting ways with them, they say amicably, but some of the memos I found suggest he went out under a cloud. Apparently he wanted them to give him more resources for his own experiments, but they didn't recognise his 'genius.' Two years ago, he got disillusioned with the whole business, took some courses on therapy, and set up a practice a year ago. He's trading as a doctor, but it's his chemistry degree he's using for credentials. I couldn't find anything to suggest he could have been department-sanctioned, even in light of the forged memo, and I can't find a client record, either, so for all we know, Sands and his colleagues are his only patients. We'll need to go to the source if we want to know more."

Steed nodded in agreement. "I agree. He definitely bears looking into. At the moment he's the only lead we have."

"I agree that we ought to investigate him," Purdey chipped in, reclaiming the stack of files she'd left on Steed's desk. "And that we ought to speak to him, preferably without him realising he's being investigated. But how are we meant to do it? I mean, if we just walk in and ask him, he'll know what we're trying to do in an instant, and he won't tell us a thing."

Steed raised his index finger in acknowledgement. "That," he declared cheerfully, "is a very good point, Purdey. The straight-forward approach would most certainly prove problematic. Which is why I have another approach in mind." With that, he reached over and opened a drawer in his desk. Purdey slid off the desk top so she could face him properly, as Gambit moved to join her.

An odd little smile appeared on Steed's face as he plucked out two small velvet boxes from the drawer. He took one in each hand, and slid them across the desktop surface toward Purdey and Gambit. Purdey and Gambit's faces dissolved into identical bemused frowns.

"What's this?" Gambit wanted to know, picking up one box as Purdey did the same, though with a touch more trepidation. Gambit opened his box, and was met with the sight of a plain gold band wedged into a velvet cushion. He raised a knowing eyebrow. "Is this what I think it is?"

Purdey had opened her box, and she made a little strangled, outraged exclamation that drew Gambit's attention away from his box to her own. Hers contained a gold band very similar to his, but also a diamond solitaire. He glanced at her face, and noticed she'd suddenly gone very pale. Her head snapped up angrily, and she aimed her scowl at the senior agent. "Steed! You must be joking!"

Steed, for his part, was smiling beatifically, clearly enjoying their reactions. "You must admit that, if you're going to investigate a marriage counsellor, a married couple is the best form of cover under which to do it."

"Steed, you're not actually proposing that we go in pretending to be Mr. and Mrs. Gambit, are you?" Purdey exclaimed, outraged.

Steed's eyes widened comically. "Good heavens, no!"

"Oh," Purdey said with visible relief. "That's all right then."

"If you went in under Gambit's name, they'd discover you in an instant," Steed continued, opening a different drawer and withdrawing a pair of files. He again slid them across desk. They had Purdey and Gambit's pictures on the front. "You'll be going in as Mr. and Mrs. O'Carroll instead."

"What?!" Purdey exclaimed, whirling on Gambit. "You're not going along with this, are you?"

Gambit was trying very hard to keep the smile off his face, and wasn't succeeding. "Duty calls, Purdey-girl. Don't take it so hard. A few centuries ago, arranged marriages were all the rage."

"I'll show you rage," Purdey shot back, fists clenched into immobility. "Steed, you can't be serious. Us, posing as a married couple? What makes you think we'll be believable, fake names or not?"

Now Steed was the one trying very hard to keep a straight face. "Purdey, when you arrived with Gambit this morning, you were arguing about whose turn it was to drop off your combat gear at Ministry stores on the way home."

"Yes," Purdey agreed, looking puzzled. "I don't take your point."

Steed exchanged knowing glances with Gambit. "I'll leave you to ponder that particular mystery, shall I?" He pointed at the files. "I've taken the liberty of building you a backstory for your cover. All your particulars—name, date of birth, schools, family and the like. Michael and Perdita O'Carroll. You've been married seven years."

"That long?" Purdey said tartly. "Perdita must have an iron constitution."

"Love keeps them together," Gambit said, treating her to a saucy wink.

"If you're going to break into a rousing chorus of the Captain and Tenille, I may have to make myself a widow."

"Michael's a junior bureaucrat in George's department," Steed continued, though the slight smile remained on his lips. "Perdita keeps house. I'm sorry to be so unimaginative Purdey, but there were concerns that if we made her as remarkable as you, it might raise suspicion."

"I'll raise something else, if you're not careful," Purdey warned.

Steed ignored the threat and continued. "You'll need more than that to convince Smith, of course, so I think the pair of you will have to work together to flesh out the details of your life. I suggest you stick to the truth as much as possible, but you'll also have to invent a fair amount." Steed looked from one to the other and smiled beatifically. "All right?"

"I'm sure we'll work something out," Gambit opined, plucking the ring out of his box with his thumb and forefinger and turning it this way and that.

"I'm sure," Steed agreed, then nodded at the ring. "I'd be careful with those if I were you. They're the genuine article. If you lose them, I've promised the Ministry I'll dock your pay."

"What?" Gambit looked up so quickly he nearly dropped the ring. Purdey watched with amusement as he fumbled with it before hurriedly stuffing it back into its box, before turning back to Steed.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Purdey accused.

"I don't know what you mean," Steed said innocently. "You have two days. I've already taken the liberty of setting up an appointment."

"You're very sure we can carry this off," Purdey observed, arms crossed.

"I have infinite faith in your abilities, my dear," Steed said cheerfully. "But I did anticipate some reluctance on your part, so I thought I might tempt you with these." He delved into the drawer once more, and extracted a pair of glasses with thick black frames. He handed them to Gambit, who looked puzzled. "If you're going to play a bureaucrat," Steed explained, "it might help to look the part. They're very effective. Purdey used them during her first assignment with us, remember? She was posing as a secretary."

"I remember," Gambit muttered unenthusiastically.

"Do you also remember how pleased I was with them?" Purdey reminded, suddenly looking more cheerful.

"Yes," Gambit confirmed, shooting her a knowing look. "You just want to see me humiliated don't you?"

"Brought down a peg might be more accurate," Purdey said brightly. "Come on. Don't keep us in suspense."

Gambit sighed and put them on. The effect was to immediately render his handsome features rather owlish. Purdey, not even attempting to hinder her delight, howled with laughter.

"Thanks," Gambit snapped, sulking magnificently.

Purdey was wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "All right," she capitulated as her breathing returned to normal. "I'll do it. But only if Gambit wears the glasses."

"Agreed." Steed declared.

"Don't I get a say?" Gambit wanted to know, removing the offending item, and treating it to a poisonous glare.

"Not where Purdey's concerned," Steed said flatly. He pointed at the files. "I suggest the pair of you get started. You haven't much time."

VVV

Purdey opened her flat door to find Gambit on the other side. He grinned broadly at her and said, in an exaggerated American accent, "Honey, I'm home."

Purdey's expression was stony. "Mike Gambit, if you don't give me a very good reason, I shall slam his door in your face in the next three seconds."

To her surprise, and annoyance, Gambit's grin broadened. He hefted a bag in one hand and said, cheekily, "I've got three: gin, bitters, and ginger ale."

Purdey stood, unwavering, for another beat, then said, "You're forgiven." She plucked the bag from his hand, stood aside so he could enter. "Come in."

Gambit did. It had only been a matter of hours since Steed had left them with their files, and they had agreed to spend the morning acquainting themselves with their respective manufactured backstories before coming together to collaborate. Now it was after lunch, and Purdey had eaten, absorbed as much as she could on Perdita O'Carroll, and was more than ready for a drink, never mind how early it was.

Gambit crossed the room and tossed his file across the coffee table. It skidded until it met up with hers, spread out where she'd left it. "How's it going?" he asked, settling into the armchair to watch as Purdey put the bottles to use and fixed their drinks.

"As well as can be expected, considering I've been given only a few hours to absorb a whole new life. What about you?"

"Not bad. The toughest bit's going to be convincing Smith I can pass for a high clearance bureaucrat."

Purdey flashed him a winning smile. "Clearly you haven't seen yourself in those glasses," she opined. "They did a very good job of convincing me."

Gambit pulled a face. "Thanks."

"I thought you'd be pleased. It'll save you a lot of trouble on the acting front." She crossed the room and handed him his drink. Gambit noted with approval that she'd chosen to give him his favourite tipple—Scotch—and chose to let her comment pass. Purdey settled herself down on the couch and sipped her gin with approval. "Anyway," she continued, setting the glass down and picking up a pen and notepad from the coffee table, "I thought we might take turns at inventing the details of our shared history."

Gambit shrugged. "Fine. Who's going first?"

"I will," Purdey decided.

Gambit grinned knowingly over the rim of his glass. "Of course you will."

Purdey shot him a look. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. Just happy to see you're getting into character, Mrs. O'Carroll." Gambit winked at her. "Come on, come on."

Purdey held the look a touch longer, just to let him know he hadn't gotten away with anything, then considered the notepad. "I thought we might start with where we met. The file says on holiday at a party in Brighton. I was going to say that it was given by a mutual friend of both of us. All right?"

"All right." Gambit agreed. "You were wearing a blue, off-the-shoulder dress with a short skirt that showed off your legs."

"Funny. I remember you wearing the same. Legs weren't quite as good, though."

"Very funny."

"Yes, I thought so." Purdey looked pleased with herself, having exacted her revenge for a few moments earlier. "Does anything else leap to mind, other than your trouble walking in the heels?"

To her surprise, Gambit short-circuited her teasing by going in the exact opposite direction. "I thought you were the greatest thing I'd ever seen, so I knew I had to talk to you."

Purdey looked momentarily stunned at this admission, as though she didn't quite know how to interpret it. Then she quickly pulled herself together and began to jot notes on her pad.

"Don't bother writing that one down," Gambit instructed. "Steed told us to stick to the truth, so I'll remember it."

Purdey glanced up. "Oh," she said, as the significance of this statement settled in. "Right."

"What are you going to say about me?" Gambit asked, with studied disinterest.

"Well…" Purdey fiddled with her pen. "I'm meant to be talking about Michael O'Carroll, so I can't very well talk about what I felt when I first met you, because you were introduced as an agent. I suppose I'll have to say you seemed solid. Dependable. Trustworthy."

"Oh," Gambit echoed, taking his turn at letting the significance of her words sink in. "Right. No wonder you were swept off your feet."

"They're not terrible things to be known for," Purdey defended. "I mean, perhaps I'd had my share of bad relationships, and you seemed very appealing in comparison."

Gambit perked up a little at that. "How appealing?"

"Don't push it. I'm writing that down," Purdey warned, jotting a few notes on her pad. "Now, onto the first date, I think."

"Dinner?"

"Naturally."

"Steak?"

"Lobster," Purdey decided.

"Do I get any say in this at all?"

"In the imaginary date, or this conversation?"

"Both."

"That depends. Do you have any good ideas?"

"Lots."

"Surprise me."

"What did we talk about? I asked you about your work, you said you were trained as a dance instructor. I complimented your legs. We danced."

"Did we?"

"Yes."

"And talked while we did it?"

"Probably."

Purdey tapped the pen against her lips. "We told each other all sorts of secrets, the sort we wouldn't normally tell anyone else."

Gambit leaned forward eagerly. "Such as?"

"I was so surprised you were still a virgin."

Gambit pulled a face. "Very funny…wait, why are you writing that down?"

Purdey grinned wickedly. "Why do you think?"

"You are not putting that down."

"Why not?"

"For one thing, Smith won't believe it."

"How do you know?" Purdey challenged. "You're much more retiring as Michael O'Carroll. And there are the glasses."

"You can't blame the glasses for everything."

"I will, unless you can give me a better reason to leave it out."

"If you write that down and say it in the session, I'm going to tell him our sex life is unbelievably kinky, and when he asks why, I'll tell him you taught me everything I know."

Purdey froze, pen in mid-sentence. "You wouldn't," she hissed.

Gambit settled back in his chair, arms crossed. "Try me."

She held his gaze for a moment, obviously trying to work out if he meant it, then seemed to decide he did, and sighed. "Oh, all right," she muttered, putting several lines through the last sentence on the page. "But it would have been fun."

"For you, not me," Gambit said wryly. "But since we're on the topic, we may as well decide on our sex life."

Purdey looked unimpressed. "Is that how you proposition all the girls?"

"He'll ask," Gambit declared. "And if we don't have a decent answer, he'll know."

"All right." Purdey crossed her arms expectantly. "What did you have in mind?"

"Twice a day," Gambit said with a grin.

Purdey pursed her lips. "You can't enough of me, I suppose?"

"No," Gambit contradicted. "You can't get enough of me."

"I am not," Purdey said firmly, "writing that down."

"Why? You were all set to make me a virgin. Did you think you'd get that without me playing the nymphomaniac card?"

Purdey threw the pen on the table. "I wish you'd take this seriously."

"If we were at it twice a day, I would, believe me."

"Mike Gambit," Purdey grumbled, "you'll be the death of me."

" 'Til death us do part," Gambit quoted.

"I can only hope. I'd hate to be stuck with you in the afterlife as well," Purdey countered, but Gambit only smiled. "Well, if you're so keen on reproduction, I suppose we ought to explain why we haven't got any children, despite seven years of marriage. Although that should be quite easy, really."

Gambit canted his head to one side, bemused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, say we don't want any, of course," Purdey said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"We don't, or the O'Carrolls don't?"

"Well, both." Purdey looked at him oddly. "We're hardly in the right profession to start a family."

"Doesn't mean we've ruled it out," Gambit countered.

"Gambit." Purdey's expression was one of amused disbelief. "Are you saying you want children?"

"Yes," Gambit confirmed. "If I'm lucky enough to find someone to have them with. Someone I _want_ to have them with, who wants to have them with me." He looked expectantly at her. "Why? Don't you want any?"

Purdey lowered her gaze, looked down at her pad. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's not something I can think clearly about."

"Why not?" Gambit wanted to know, then paused as realisation dawned. "Doomer," he muttered darkly. He almost spat the name, but Purdey just nodded. He looked at her apologetically. "Sometimes I forget about him."

"I wish I could," Purdey said sadly. "And for the most part, I'm very good at it. But there are some things that he's, well, very tightly linked to. It's as though I can't think of one without the other. He was the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, have children with. I'm glad I didn't now, but I can't think of having children without being reminded of him, so if I don't want to think of one, I lose the other." She held out her hands like a scale, balancing the two concepts. "Do you see?"

"Yes," Gambit said resignedly, because he did, and it made his heart ache. "But you shouldn't let him take away something like that and hold it hostage forever. You can't let him stop you from getting what you want."

"With him in my head, I don't even know what I want," Purdey said bitterly. "And until I find a way to dislodge him, I don't think I can."

"I see." Gambit looked as morose as he sounded, and a heavy silence descended over the room, laced with an awkward uneasiness as they tried to work out how to pick up the conversation after it had been so abruptly dropped.

"I'll say the O'Carroll's don't have children because you're simply too busy with work, shall I?" Purdey suggested, picking up the notepad, and regarding it intently, as though it would provide solace.

"Yeah," Gambit agreed, straightening up in his seat. "Sounds believable."

"Right," Purdey agreed briskly, jotting down a note, then setting the pad on the table and picking up her glass. "Would you like another drink?" She nodded at this empty Scotch glass.

"Please," Gambit said with relief, handing it to her and watching her go to the sideboard to fix it. With her back to him, he couldn't tell what she was thinking, but he wanted to say something all the same. "I hope you do find someone," he said carefully. "Someone who can rout Doomer for good."

"Yes," Purdey agreed, trying not to let her back stiffen, nor allow herself to think that she might possibly have found someone already, but that person was both very near, and yet, in her mind, impossibly far away.

When she turned around with the drinks, her expression was blandly cheerful. She went back to where Gambit sat, handed him his drink, and settled back on the couch.

"It's all gone rather serious," she opined. "This was supposed to be fun."

Gambit checked his watch. "We've got an hour or two left. I'm sure we can come up with a few ridiculous things to give the O'Carrolls some spice, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

Purdey laughed, as much in relief as at the gesture. "Don't get too carried away, Mike Gambit. We have to make it believable."

"It's you and me, Purdey-girl," Gambit said with a wink. "Believable might be a stretch."

VVV

_**Twelve days later** _

The call came at half-past ten in the morning, as Steed was perusing the morning paper in the living room. He set the _Times_ aside and scooped up the receiver on the side table next to the couch. "Steed."

"John." It was Kendrick's voice, and Steed knew instantly that the man bore bad news, as much from the tone of his voice as the use of his Christian name. "I have the results of the inquest," he went on.

"I see," Steed said sombrely. "Do you mind waiting a moment? I think I ought to take this in the other room—"

"Is that Kendrick?" Purdry seemed to have appeared from nowhere, eyes bright and disproportionately large due to the weight and colour she'd lost in her face this past week. "What's he saying?"

"Purdey." Steed covered the phone's mouthpiece. "You needn't hear this now. I can speak with Kendrick and pass on what he says."

Purdey shook her head. "No. I have to hear it for myself. I owe Gambit that."

"But won't it—"

"No," Purdey cut in sharply, mouth set in a grim line, unwavering. "I want to hear it. Are you going to stop me?"

Steed sighed and shook his head, indicated a second phone across the room at his desk. Purdey drifted over and sank into his chair, lifted the receiver. Then she nodded to Steed once, curtly.

"Go ahead, Kendrick," Steed instructed the doctor, and received a sigh for his efforts.

"Right," came the unenthusiastic response. "I've combed through everything the clean-up crew managed to salvage. Obviously it's not enough to work with. The explosion's made it next to impossible to draw any firm conclusions."

"But?" Kendrick was waffling, and Steed knew it. There was another sigh.

"The remains were in very bad condition. The face is, well, gone."

Purdey whimpered. Kendrick ploughed on.

"I did, however, manage to get a partial set of dental records. And those, I'm sorry to say, matched Gambit's."

Steed looked to Purdey. The hand holding the phone was clutching it so tightly, the knuckles were white. He turned away before he spoke again.

"Could it be a coincidence?" he asked. "A near match, close enough to the real thing that it could be mistaken for Gambit?"

"Anything's possible," Kendrick conceded. "But given that Gambit was last seen in the building, and that the rest of the remains suggest his height and build, well…" He trailed off.

Steed forced himself to remain calm. "I see."

"And there's the chain we found, of course."

"The chain?"

"Gambit's St. Christopher," Purdey said, so softly Steed was unsure whether he'd even heard it. He looked to her and saw she had her hand pressed to her chest, just where the pendent would have rested. "He was a sailor, remember."

"Yes, of course," Steed muttered. "And you say you found the same one in the warehouse?"

"The remains of what looks like it, yes," Kendrick confirmed, sounding tireder and tireder as the conversation continued. "I know he wore a ring as well, but the hand…there's no easy way to put it, but we haven't found it."

Steed swallowed hard. His mind was still reluctant to believe it, but the evidence was mounting. "I'm sorry, Steed," Kendrick said, and it sounded like he meant it. "I didn't want to give you bad news, but I can't control my findings. As far as I can tell, from the evidence at my disposal, these are Gambit's remains. He's dead, Steed."

Purdey made a real noise, now, a sob that started deep in her throat. Kendrick must have heard it down the line, because he said, "Purdey?" but she hung up quickly, burying her face in her hands as more sobs wracked her body.

"Kendrick," Steed said quickly, watching her quaking form, "what happens now?"

"I file my report."

"And you're going to conclude that Gambit's dead?"

"I'm going to say on a balance of probabilities, it's likely that he us, yes."

"But you can't be certain?"

"I can't, no. The evidence is such that I can't be completely sure it's him. But really, Steed, what more do you want?"

"It's still circumstantial," Steed argued stubbornly.

"Steed, you're only going to make this harder for yourself if you keep denying it. Close the file. Move on. Heaven knows you've done it before."

"Not for this. Not for a partner." Steed couldn't tear his eyes away from Purdey. She'd stopped crying now, but her red eyes were staring off into space. "Promise me you won't have him declared dead. Not yet."

Kendrick sighed. "Steed…"

"Promise me."

There was one last sigh. "Yes, of course. The report could never be conclusive enough to do so anyway."

"Thank you," Steed said in relief. "I have to go. Thank you for contacting me. I appreciate your time."

"Of course," Kendrick said sombrely. "If you need anything…"

Steed smiled wanly. "I'll contact you. Good-bye, Kendrick."

"Good-bye."

Steed rang off and immediately went to Purdey. He took her by the shoulders and guided her back to the couch in a daze. He pressed her gently down to her seat, and then seated himself beside her, turned toward her intently.

"Purdey," he said softly, intensely. "We still don't know he's dead. The evidence isn't conclusive. He might still be somewhere."

"Steed!" Purdey cut in angrily. "Stop it! Stop trying to give me false hope. He's dead, and you know it." She wiped her nose miserably on her sleeve. "And what makes it worse is he was angry with me when it happened."

Steed looked at her in surprise. "What? You never mentioned that before."

"I try not to think about it," Purdey said bitterly, face shrouded in self-recrimination. "But it's true. We had a row not long before Smith captured us. They weren't the last word she said to me, thankfully." She swallowed hard. "It'd be hard to take if they were. But all the same, it was the last proper, private conversation we had, just the two of us. He didn't hate me. Just the opposite, really. But I-I hurt him. I said some things I shouldn't have. And I have to live with that." She closed her eyes against a fresh flood of tears.

Steed was staring after uncomprehendingly. "Even so, you and Gambit always got on so well," he murmured in disbelief. "I can't see Gambit losing his temper with you easily."

Purdey smiled sadly, shook her head. "That's true. But there was a reason behind it, a very old one. It goes back a long way, but it didn't…it never really mattered until we were in Canada."

"What happened in Canada?" Steed wanted to know, and Purdey closed her eyes and remembered.

VVV

It was their last night in Toronto. Steed had begged off dinner with Purdey and Gambit in favour of a rendez-vous with an old friend who also happened to be in town. "Blonde, brunette, or redhead?" Purdey asked knowingly, and Steed had smiled secretively, as though enjoying a private joke.

"One never knows," he said mysteriously. "I suppose I'll find out when I arrive."

Purdey had frowned at that, but then Gambit caught her eye and mouthed the word, "Wigs" at her, and suddenly all became clear. She wondered idly if part of the reason Steed had been arranging holidays in Canada was to catch up with old friends, and not just the ones in the Canadian Security Services.

With Steed otherwise occupied, they were left to fend for themselves, but they'd had dinner as twosome so many times that it was hardly a trial. In fact, it was a pleasant change of course. Ever since their bevy of overseas assignments, they'd found themselves always dining with Steed, and often additional parties related to their various assignments. As it was, they hadn't shared a quiet meal by themselves for some time. Purdey hadn't realised, until she found herself sipping brandy and coffee at the end of the meal, that she'd missed having Gambit's face alone opposite hers quite fiercely. This unforeseen revelation knocked her for a mild loop, and pushed her brain into other trains of thought that she'd abandoned several days earlier for the sake of work. Now that there weren't reports to square away and officious loose ends to tie up, she had the luxury of addressing a few loose ends of her own.

They rode the lift (or "elevator" as Purdey couldn't resist reminding Gambit, who, despite their lengthy Canadian sojourn, had still failed to adopt the native terminology), up to their floor in the hotel, then stepped into the plushly-carpeted corridor and made their way unhurriedly past the numbered doors to their rooms.

"Suppose we should make an early night of it," Gambit said reluctantly, clearly unaccustomed to turning in at a decent hour on a Friday night. "Our flight's pretty early, and I don't think McKay's going to be thrilled if we miss it and have to buy another ticket on expenses."

Purdey smirked at the thought of their superior's sour expression. "He could always dock our pay," she suggested, and Gambit's mouth quirked up ruefully on one side.

"Don't give him any ideas," he warned. "I heard rumours he's haggling with the French about who should have to foot the bill for our work over there."

Purdey giggled. She didn't doubt for a moment that that was true. "Well, I don't know about you, but I feel wealthy enough to stay up for a nightcap. Join me?"

Gambit's eyebrows climbed into his hairline in mild surprise, but he didn't look unhappy about the prospect. "In your room?" he inquired, letting all the implications that accompanied that statement settle over the words.

Purdey made a face that implied he was being tiresome and thick. "Of course my room. I know you only ever have Scotch, and we really will miss our flight if we go searching for Steed's stash. I want gin, and I happen to know I have some."

"Of course you do," Gambit said knowingly. "It's always gin. Do you have some bitters and ginger ale hidden in your knicker drawer to go with it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Purdey said pertly, taking her key out of her clutch purse and inserting it in the lock of her hotel room door. "If you're not interested, you're quite welcome to go back to your Scotch."

"I think I can suffer through a glass of gin," Gambit murmured, quite close to her ear, crowding her in the doorframe as she pushed her door open.

"Such a sacrifice," Purdey gently mocked, stepping over the threshold and letting Gambit enter before closing the door behind her. He stopped a few feet inside, took a quick survey of her quarters, and frowned.

"You've got a better room than me," he observed, slightly sourly, striding over to the sliding glass door that led out onto the balcony and opening it to survey the gleaming lights of the city. "All I can see from mine is an alley and a wall."

"I would have thought that would make you nostalgic," Purdey quipped, plucking two glasses from a side table and locating her bottle of gin in the mini-bar.

Gambit pulled a face. "Some types of nostalgia you don't want to revisit," he muttered, stepping out into the warm, slightly-humid air. Purdey filled the glasses and followed him outside. She found him standing with his hands resting on the railing, a slim silhouette backgrounded by the sea of lights stretching out everywhere, even spilling into Lake Ontario off to his left. It was immensely striking, and she found herself pausing in the doorway, unwilling to disturb the scene before she'd fully taken it in. It was only when he glanced over his shoulder at her that the spell was broken, and she hurried out to hand him his drink.

"Thanks," he said gratefully, raising the glass to her. "Cheers."

"Cheers," she returned, taking a sip before joining him at the railing. They stood in silence for a moment, taking sips and savouring the view.

"It's a nice city, really," Gambit said after a moment. "Even if their law enforcement is a bit over-enthusiastic."

"I thought you'd be flattered," Purdey teased. "Clearly they find you irresistible."

"Maybe if the OPP hired more female constables," Gambit said dryly, then turned dancing eyes on her. "Ever fancied yourself in uniform, Purdey-girl?'

She tsked in mild derision. "I'm sure you have."

"Not exclusively." He was grinning now.

"I'd watch what I said if I were you," Purdey warned, nodding down at the city below. "We're a very long way up."

Gambit shook his head. "You'd never do me in. I'm the only person who will still play Scrabble with you, even though you cheat."

" 'Cybernaut' is a word!" Purdey protested indignantly.

"Not the way you spell it."

He had her there. Purdey lapsed into silence for a moment, and her thoughts looped back to that annoyingly recurrent train of thought. "Did you mean it?" she blurted out, without any sort of preceding remark at all.

Gambit, to his credit, was used to this sort of thing by now, eyes never leaving the trail left by his gin as he swirled the liquid in his glass. "Something tells me that one's been taken out of your stream of consciousness midstream," he hypothesised. "You're probably going to accuse me of being slow on the uptake, but I'll risk it and ask for some context."

Purdey shot him a mild glare for being so flippant, but seeing as she actually wanted an answer, she decided she'd give in just this once. "Our argument from last Tuesday."

"Ah." Gambit quit swirling the drink long enough to take a sip. "I'm with you now. What about it?"

"Well," Purdey began, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about her ruminations now that she was actually vocalising them. She turned to look out over the city so she wouldn't have to meet Gambit's eyes. "We were talking about the fickleness of men's minds. I said that men's minds were changeable and dynamic, and you disagreed." She hazarded a sidelong glance at her colleague. "Do you remember?"

"Rings a bell," Gambit almost drawled.

"Do you recall what you said in reply?"

Gambit half-shrugged. "Probably." He flashed a grin at her. "But you'd better refresh my memory. I'll never hear the end of it if I get my own argument wrong."

Purdey smiled back weakly. She had been hoping Gambit would reiterate his position himself, and save her saying it. She wasn't entirely certain she could trust her voice if she did. But Gambit didn't seem interested in stepping up to the task, so it looked as though she was going to have to do all the work again. She took a deep breath, forced her quivering nerves to calm, and spoke in her steadiest voice. "You said that no man would up and leave a woman. Not if he really cared about her."

Gambit, to her surprise, suddenly looked sombre and serious. The humour drained out of his features. "Yes," he confirmed softly. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"Yes," Purdey agreed, biting her lip before returning to her original query. "Did you mean it?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Gambit downed the last of the gin in one gulp, as though he desperately needed its sustaining properties.

Purdey felt her rapid-fire brain instantly jump to the possibilities. "Well, it was a debate, wasn't it? Each person takes a side and defends it. You say what you have to to win. You don't necessarily mean everything you say."

Gambit turned so one arm was draped over the railing, and his body was twisted to face her. "Do you mean everything you say when we debate?" he wanted to know, inquiring eyebrow arched high.

"Well, yes," Purdey admitted.

"Then why wouldn't I mean what I say?" Gambit pressed. He was being infuriatingly logical, and Purdey didn't like it at all.

"So you're saying you did mean it, then," she concluded, sidestepping the issue and hoping he wouldn't press her on it.

To her relief, he didn't. "Yes," Gambit said finally. "I did." He straightened up, as though he was ready to leave. "Is that all you wanted to know?"

"No," Purdey said softly, and Gambit froze, eyes on hers. "I wanted to know...what did you mean by 'care'?"

Gambit's smile wasn't teasing or playful this time. It was fond and just a touch melancholy. "Care means care, Purdey-girl. I think we both know what it means."

"It can mean all sorts of things," Purdey contradicted. "Just because you care for someone, it doesn't mean you _care_ for them." She paused and sputtered a little, as though she was having difficulty locating any more synonyms for the words she was unable to say. "You can care about all sorts of people, but not in the same way. Don't you see?" she said finally, giving up on her search.

Gambit nodded at her, the oddest glint in his eye. "Yeah, I think so."

"I mean, I don't know for certain, but you must care about that aunt who sends you pyjamas."

Gambit's grin made a brief, but welcome, reappearance. "She wouldn't let me forget it if I didn't."

"And you must care about Steed. We both care about Steed. Though probably not in the same way you care about your aunt."

"I sure as hell hope we don't."

"And me," Purdey managed. "Do you care about me?"

Gambit met her eyes, a wealth of emotion behind them, locking her gaze to his. "You know I do," he said softly, with just a touch of huskiness.

Purdey took a tentative step toward him. "But do you care?" she whispered, so softly that her words were almost drowned out by the unending traffic below. "Or do you _care_?"

Gambit stepped in close, meeting her in the middle, looking down into her eyes while she looked up. "Do you really need to ask?"

At that moment, Purdey was vividly aware that she was at a crossroads, with two paths patently obvious, and she could clearly see the course of both. If she kissed him, kissed those lips, parted invitingly, there would be no going back. She knew she wouldn't have the willpower to stop herself. If she kissed him, right here, right now, she would end up taking him to bed, and all that entailed. There would be hands on flesh, and gasped confessions, and sweat, and bliss, and above all, love. But when the sweat had dried, and the blood was no longer pounding in her ears, she would awake to a new world, one where the defences were down, one where the consequences of things going wrong loomed ominously. There would be no easy way to look Gambit in the face and dismiss him, no way to go back to the status quo. She could have it all, everything she wanted, everything she craved, but it could come at the price of losing him completely, of a broken heart if things went terribly wrong. And that poor abused organ fluttered uneasily at the prospect, pushing her mind to consider the other path.

The other path was safe. She didn't kiss him. Didn't break the status quo. Didn't risk everything—him, her, their relationship, the dynamic of their team. Her heart. She knew where she stood on that path, had travelled it so many times she knew every twist and turn. It was the easy path. The safe path. The coward's path. And like a coward, she took it, despite the howl of frustration and despair that seemed to echo in the back of her mind.

"No, I suppose not," she said briskly, turning bodily away from him and stepping away before the waters got any deeper. "But I thought I'd ask."

It was too painful to look at him, but she thought she could see him slump bodily out of the corner of her eye, as though someone had let all the air out of him. Someone. Blame where it was due. _Her._

Somehow, he managed to straighten himself up enough to walk. "Glad I could help," he said, and his voice wasn't husky now, just hoarse, and weary, and a little uneven at the edges. He moved with quick strides over to one of her side tables and set his glass down. "Anyway, I, uh, better be going. We've still got that early flight."

She still couldn't bear to look at him. The words were bad enough without seeing the expression on his face. She'd never keep herself from crying that way. "Yes, of course," she managed, gripping her own glass so hard she was afraid it might break. "Good-night, Gambit."

She heard him open her door, then pause. "Good-bye, Purdey," he murmured in reply, and then he was gone. And Purdey, drawing on long years of experience, willed herself not to cry.

VVV

She wasn't as successful in the present day. The flight the next day had been uncomfortable. By mutual consent, they manoeuvred Steed into sitting between them, Gambit in the aisle, Purdey in the window. Mike spent most of his time with his eyes closed on the pretence of sleeping, though whether he got so much as ten winks, Purdey was unsure. She kept up a steady stream of conversation with Steed, quizzing him about his dinner date. By the time they were back in London, there was too much to do with baggage and cabs to focus on much else, and then they were each on their way home. By the time they reunited a few days later, Gambit's smile was easy, even if didn't quite meet his eyes. Purdey could see that smile now, if she closed her eyes. So true, so kind, so genuine, just like its owner. But sad. Unavoidably sad. And she was the cause.

"What happened in Canada?" Steed asked again, and Purdey let the tears fall this time.

"It's not what happened that matters," she told him. "It's what didn't happen." She stood quickly. "Excuse me," she murmured, and fled from the room.


	6. Captured & Captive

_**Ten days earlier...** _

"I can't believe we're actually going through with this," Purdey muttered as they sat parked in front of Smith's office in their borrowed Morris Marina, the XJS having been deemed a touch too flashy for the class of civil servant Michael O'Carroll was meant to be.

"Don't look so surprised," Gambit told her, turning his head so he could flash her a grin. "Lots of people get married on a whim."

Purdey gave him a look. "Yes, but most of them don't end up in marriage counselling practically the next day."

"Some of them might," Gambit suggested, putting on his thick-rimmed glasses. Purdey suppressed a snicker at the sight, and it was Gambit's turn to shoot her a look. "If you keep up like that, Smith'll be onto us a flash."

"It's not my fault," Purdey defended, completely incapable of keeping a straight face. "Have you seen yourself in them?"

"I don't want to," Gambit shot back, sulking. "Come on, then. Get your rings out."

Purdey sighed and nodded, pulled the small box from her purse and opened it. The rings glinted at her cheerily. She took them out with trepidation, and pondered them for a moment, as though considering their significance. Then, with a sigh, she slid them on.

" 'Til death us do part, Purdey-girl," Gambit quoted, flexing his left hand so she could see the gold band that adorned it.

Purdey shuddered involuntarily. "Don't say that. It feels like an invitation for trouble."

"Well, trouble is our business," Gambit quipped, opening his door and stepping out. Purdey tsked at the joke, and followed suit.

They went into Smith's office, and were greeted by a fairly unremarkable reception area, adorned with a handful of serviceable chairs, a table with a stack of magazines, and a secretary typing at a desk. Gambit and Purdey made for her, and she looked up expectantly as they approached.

"May I help you?" she asked cheerfully.

"Michael and Perdita O'Carroll," Gambit informed, adjusting his glasses as though they didn't quite sit on his face properly. "We're your three o'clock."

The receptionist consulted a book. "Ah, of course. He'll see you in a moment." She gestured to the seats and returned to her typing.

Gambit and Purdey did as they were bid and sat down. Purdey picked up one of the magazines on the coffee table and flipped through it without actually registering what was on the page, choosing instead to glance surreptitiously around the office, but there was really nothing to see. She'd chosen to dress conservatively in her pink wool dress with matching cardigan and white heels, which she thought was a reasonable enough choice for the wife of a quasi-bureaucrat. Gambit had opted for a grey suit, one more conservatively cut than his usual attire. It was dove grey and double-breasted. He didn't wear it often, which Purdey thought was rather a shame as it was quite attractive on him, though the glasses were doing their best to undermine its aesthetic.

Eventually, the telephone on the secretary's desk rang, and she answered it, gave a brief affirmative response, and then indicated to them that they could go in through the door to her right.

Gambit and Purdey followed her directions. They found themselves in a relatively innocuous office, painted in soothing shades of taupe and equipped with a solid wood desk and faced by two metal-framed chairs with black cushions. Behind the desk was a high-backed office chair, faced away from them. As they approached, it swivelled around, and for the first, they saw Smith.

The reveal was rather less dramatic than Smith probably would have liked. He was about forty, with dark brown hair cut short, a long, lean face with a vaguely unsettling permasmile, and a slim, almost skinny, build. He wore a middle-of-the-road brown suit with a matching tie, and a pair of glasses with circular lenses. Purdey had seen his photo in his file, but there was something about seeing the man in the flesh that made her skin crawl.

"Mr. and Mrs. O'Carroll," he greeted, gesturing to the two chairs before him. "Please, have a seat."

Purdey and Gambit settled into the chairs and regarded Smith with the sort of guarded, expectant expression they thought the O'Carrolls would wear.

"I'm Dr. Reginald Smith," he introduced. He consulted a file on his desk. "I see here that you're another referral from that government department I've been seeing so much of lately."

"That's right," Gambit confirmed, adjusting his glasses again. Purdey couldn't decide if was affecting a tic, or if he just found them so uncomfortable he couldn't let them be.

"And yet you're coming to me long after the rest of your colleagues…" It wasn't exactly a question, but the implication was there.

Gambit shrugged carelessly. "Just been busy, that's all. Put it on my to-do list, and finally got around to it."

Smith nodded and smiled, accepting the response, or at least pretending to. "Better late than never, eh?" he said cheerfully, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "So, what needs seeing to?"

Purdey and Gambit exchanged glances. "What do you mean?" Purdey inquired.

"I mean, what sorts of problems do you have? In your marriage, I hasten to add, not in other aspects of your life, though there's no question those can feed into your relationship as well, and I certainly won't dismiss them if you think they're relevant. So—" He steepled his fingers in front of his face, elbows resting on the desk. "—I ask again. What sort of problems do you have?"

"Nothing of note," Purdey declared, smiling at Gambit with her best expression of wifely affection. "Everyone has their little quirks, of course, but nothing we'd get divorced over."

"I see." Smith cocked his head to one side, as though unconvinced. "How long have you been married?"

"Seven years," Purdey and Gambit chorused, and Smith's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise.

"Really?" he murmured, straightening up in his chair. "I never would have guessed."

"Why not?" Purdey asked, because Mrs. O'Carroll would, but she was just as interested in the answer herself. She wanted to see how much the man got wrong about their relationship just because he thought they were married.

"Well, the tension between you for a start," Smith began, head tilted to the side as he considered. "Sexual tension. Very rare in people who've been together as long as you have. But it just radiates off the pair of you. It's as though you've never scratched the itch, so to speak."

"Really?" Gambit shot Purdey a look. "Can't think why."

"Of course, it's not only that," Smith went on. "There's another type of tension, not nearly as… positive. There's some—I want to say hostility, but perhaps that's going too far. Some unresolved issue between you, and it's causing hurt on both sides."

Purdey and Gambit stiffened as one, and this time they pointedly didn't meet each other's eyes. "I don't know what you mean," Purdey said steadily, refraining from betraying any emotion at all.

"Don't you?" Smith clearly didn't believe her. "There's nothing wrong between you? Nothing at all?"

"Of course not," Purdey scoffed, looking to Gambit and expecting some sort of confirmation of her words, some indication that the idea was as ridiculous as she did. Instead, she found him with his eyes downcast, features slightly melancholy. He clearly didn't know she was looking at him, because he kept staring into space, not meeting her eye. "Michael?" Purdey prompted, remembering to call him what Mrs. O'Carroll would. Gambit hated being called "Michael", but it helped keep them both in-character.

Gambit blinked, as though coming out of a daze. "What?" he said, turning to Purdey.

She smiled tightly, hoping that Smith would see this as a marital issue, not a sign of them breaking cover. "There's nothing really wrong between us, is there?" she repeated, holding his eyes, trying to pull him back on track.

There was a pause that went on slightly too long. And then… "No," Gambit said, looking to Smith. "No, nothing." But his tone lacked conviction.

"I see…" Smith murmured, making a note on a pad in front of him. "Well, in that case, I think we'll keep the first session short. It's my standard procedure. Gives people time to think about what they might want to talk about in the next session, but it should be soon. Can you return in two day's time?"

"I'll have someone at the office ring you," Gambit said automatically, rising to shake Smith's now out-stretched hand.

"Excellent," the doctor enthused, shaking Purdey's hand in turn. "A pleasure meeting you both. See you in two days' time." He smiled another one of his unnerving smiles. "I think we'll make great strides together."

VVVV

"So," Steed said cheerfully, as he plopped down into Purdey's armchair, bowler and brolly in hand. "How was it?"

Purdey settled onto her couch with her feet tucked under her, a cup and saucer balanced in both hands. "Well, Smith is less-than-ideal therapy material," she opined. "He radiates the sort of energy that suggests he'd be a better candidate for the patient half of the equation."

Steed smiled knowingly. "So I gathered. But he didn't ask for anything that might be considered classified?"

Purdey sipped her tea, then shook her head. "He asked why it had taken us so long to see him, so he's clearly interested. But after that he didn't probe into the department's work at all."

Steed leaned forward in his seat with interest. "What did he ask?"

"Questions he'd be expected to ask," Purdey replied. "He asked us if we had any problems in our marriage, how long we'd been together." She paused, as though considering what to say next. "Amusingly, he thought there was rather a lot of sexual tension between us for a married couple. But given that we're not married, I'm sure he would have thought that of anyone in the same position."

Steed chuckled. "Perhaps," he said enigmatically. "Anything else?"

Purdey took another sip of her tea. "Not really. The only other thing was that he seemed convinced there was some sort of negative energy between us. Some issue that's unresolved. But that's clearly nonsense as well. Isn't it, Gambit?" There was no reply, and Purdey and Steed twisted in their seats to regard him. "Gambit?" Purdey repeated.

Gambit had remained standing, and was currently facing the floor-length mirror behind Purdey's barre, cup and saucer in hand. Despite the fact that his eyes were on the mirror, his gaze had an absent quality that suggested he wasn't actually seeing his reflection. His expression was grim, but there was also the slightest ghost of sadness in his features.

"Gambit?"

"Hmm?" Gambit turned at Purdey's third prompting, snapping back to the present with a start. He found Purdey and Steed staring at him with a combination of puzzlement and mild concern. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?"

Purdey pressed her mouth into a thin line and sighed. "I was saying," she repeated impatiently, "that Smith accused us of having some sort of unresolved tension."

Gambit's smile turned wicked. "Sexual tension."

Purdey flushed. "You have a one-track mind," she accused. "You know very well I meant the other kind. Some sort of unresolved issue between us. That's ridiculous, isn't it?"

Gambit's grin faded somewhat, but stayed in place by sheer force of will. "Yeah," he agreed, without much conviction. "Ridiculous."

"Regardless of what he may have gotten right or wrong," Steed interjected, glancing at Gambit as the latter moved to sit next to Purdey on the couch. "He's still a threat, and we'd be fools to underestimate him. When do you meet again?"

"In two days," Purdey informed.

"Good. That should give you some time to settle into character. And if there is some sort of tension between you, sexual or otherwise—" He matched Gambit's grin. "-it wouldn't hurt to use it. Smith is more likely to be suspicious if you make out that everything in your lives is ideal."

"Right," Gambit murmured, finishing his coffee and setting the cup on the table. "Anything new on your end?"

Steed shook his head. "George hasn't changed his story, and neither has Maude. There's nothing to be had on Smith, no record other than his perfectly legitimate employment. I've delved into your fellow therapy patients, and they've come up clean as well, so for the moment, your sham of a marriage is all we have."

"How comforting," Purdey said dryly.

"Don't laugh. It's probably true of a lot of people," Gambit said grimly.

"Is that meant to make me feel better?" Purdey wanted to know.

"Sham or not, you seem to have slipped into character quite easily." Steed pointed at her hand with his umbrella. Purdey frowned and looked down, realised she was still wearing the engagement and wedding ring. A quick check revealed that Gambit was still wearing his wedding band as well.

"Oh." She quickly made a show of tugging on her ring finger. "There was so much going on, I forgot," she justified, trying not to blush or let slip that she found the situation disconcerting. Gambit sighed and did the same, also with effort. Purdey put the rings on the coffee table, then withdrew her hand as though afraid they might burn her.

"Well, at least our fake marriage has some sort of staying power," Gambit quipped weakly, rolling the ring between his fingers before setting it down with a sigh.

"I'll drink to that," Steed declared, picking the coffee cup off the edge of the table and finishing its contents. With that, he rose from his seat. "I'll be in touch. Look after yourselves. Smith may not start putting the pressure on until the second or third session. Be on your guard."

"We will," Purdey promised, looking to Gambit.

"That's one vow we won't break," he replied, and Purdey knew she didn't imagine the sadness in his eyes. He turned and pulled a file from beneath his coffee cup, the one with their fake background. "Ready to practice playing house?"

She nodded, told herself she hadn't noticed what she'd so clearly seen. "Only if you don't pretend to help with the dishes."

Gambit smiled at her for the first time in what seemed like forever. "Deal."

VVVV

"I'd like to try something different today, if I may," Smith began, two days later, when Purdey and Gambit settled down into their seats across from his desk. "I'd like to speak to each of you. Privately. I won't pass on what either of you say regarding the other, unless you explicitly permit me to. This is a technique I've tried before, and found to be extremely useful at revealing all the problems that couples are unlikely to admit to themselves and each other. It allows couples to open up without fear of reprisal from their spouses. If you agree, I think it will be very useful."

Purdey and Gambit looked to one another. "What do you think?" Purdey inquired, asking both in-character as Mrs. O'Carroll, and as an agent consulting her partner on their next move.

Gambit worked his jaw gently, considering, then he turned to Smith and asked, "Did the other boys in the Department do this?"

Smith nodded in confirmation. Gambit looked to Purdey and shrugged. "I guess we'd better do it, too, love. Wouldn't want to be accused of letting the side down."

It was Michael O'Carroll talking, but Purdey heard Mike Gambit say, "The others did it, so we should, too. Might help us get to the bottom of what happened to Sands."

Purdey nodded, meeting his eyes to let him know that she understood. "All right," she agreed, looking to Smith. "Who should go first?"

VVVV

It was Gambit who was told to stay, while Purdey took her leave and was informed that there would be tea provided during her wait. She was, of course, also invited to peruse the out-of-date magazines.

Though they didn't know it at the time, Smith was planning on taking the same tack with both of them, namely by asking them the same questions in the same order. He began very abruptly. No sooner had Gambit settled into his seat, but he fired off his first interrogative.

"Now, Mr. O'Carroll, tell me—what don't you like about your wife?"

Gambit blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"It's a very simple question," Smith continued, enigmatically, smile never wavering for an instant. "Your wife. There must be things you dislike about her—qualities, habits. They don't necessarily mean you hate her, but they do exist. Admitting them to yourself is the first step in a healthy marriage, and you're more likely to do so if I'm the one asking, not her. So, please, tell me. And remember that I will not pass on what you say to your wife without your express permission."

Gambit thought for a moment. Steed had said to use real life examples wherever possible, and he knew from experience that the truth, or some version of it, was always more convincing than a lie, so he decided he may as well start there.

"Well, she drives me mad sometimes," he admitted.

"How so?"

Gambit sighed and scrubbed his face, not quite believing he was doing this. "She has a habit of going off on weird tangents, and if you don't see where she's going and how she got there, she accuses you of being thick and not keeping up."

Smith chuckled. "I'm sure if you surveyed most couples, you'd find you're not alone in that regard, Mr. O'Carroll."

"Yeah, but if I'm honest with myself, I kind of like it, too," Gambit said wryly. "Maybe that makes me mad, too, but it's part of what makes her her. I'd miss it if she stopped."

"That's all very well and good, Mr. O'Carroll," Smith said tersely. "But that's not the nature of the exercise. We're discussing dislikes, not endearing little idiosyncrasies."

Gambit paused. He didn't really want to sit around trying to think of things he didn't like about Purdey. It didn't come naturally to him, given the way he thought about her. But Smith seemed fairly sharp, and Gambit got the feeling he'd be able to tell if he was making things up. There was one thing that came to mind, but it wasn't something he felt like sharing. But for some reason, the longer he sat here, the more inclined he felt to confide in Smith, and not just for the sake of the assignment. There was an almost-irresistible desire to get some things off his chest.

"Sometimes…" he said slowly, carefully. "Sometimes she flirts. With other men. Right in front of me."

Smith's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

Gambit nodded. "Yes."

"And she does this intentionally, in front of her own husband?" Smith looked unconvinced. "Why? To spite you?"

"No, no, it's more to get a rise out of me," Gambit explained. "She knows it bothers me, and she thinks it's funny."

"But does she plan to follow through with any of these flirtations?" Smith pressed. "Do you think she's been unfaithful?"

"No," Gambit told him, because she hadn't. He wasn't her husband. They weren't any more than friends. There was no one to be unfaithful to, and he didn't expect her to hold back on his account. And yet… "But it still hurts."

"I can imagine." Smith made a note.

VVVV

The conversation followed a similar line when Purdey had her turn in the hot seat.

"Dislikes?" Purdey allowed herself a small smile. "I can see why you wanted us to do these on our own."

"And I can assure you that it will remain completely confidential, Mrs. O'Carroll, so there's no need to be reticent."

"Reticent?" Purdey repeated with a laugh. "I've told Michael about his faults to his face, so I'm not exactly going to hold back on your account."

"You criticise him a lot, then?" Smith inquired, and Purdey's expression changed rapidly, her face crumpling in a frown.

"Criticise is rather harsh," she defended."I'm not telling him anything he doesn't already know, and he knows I'm saying it to tease him more than anything else." She paused, then added, "Most of the time, anyway."

Smith arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "Does he?"

"Of course he does," Purdey snapped, but she suddenly looked rather unsure.

"Never mind that," Smith said brightly. "List them for me, if you please."

Purdey folded her arms, fading uncertainty still detectable on her features, but she did as she was told. "Well, he has a habit of jumping into things feet first, damn the consequences, and he usually gets himself hurt in the process."

"Impetuousness seems an odd quality for a civil servant."

Purdey's faint smile returned. "He's an odd fit for his particular position in the civil service, yes," she quipped.

Smith looked at her a little oddly, but didn't comment. "So, he doesn't always think things through. What else?"

Purdey bit her lip and looked heavenward as she considered. "He can have a bit of an ego," she continued. "If he's feeling particularly pleased with himself, he can actually tip over into smug. And he knows he's attractive, so it's a perfect combination for him to be particularly insufferable at times."

"He flirts?"

Purdey smirked. "That's putting it mildly."

"And this presumably puts a strain on your relationship?"

"Yes," Purdey answered automatically, then remembered she should be answering as Perdita O'Carroll, not as herself, and wondered why that response had come to her so easily. "I'm not saying he's unfaithful," she added quickly, lest Smith decide Michael O'Carroll was a serial philanderer, and she, as his wife, was complicit in it, which might put Smith's antenna up. Besides, Gambit would get maximum mileage out of it if he ever found out, and might end up turning her own flirting back on her. That was the last thing she needed, so some damage control was in order. "He's very aware of his advantages, that's all. And he doesn't do it very much when I'm around, not unless he doesn't know I'm there." She paused. "I monopolise his attention most days, really," she realised, and it was true. Gambit did have a social life, but she spent more hours with him in any given week than any girlfriend ever could. So to her mind, she was his one and only. She believed that, in a strange way, but something told her that her time in that rarefied position was running out.

"So, a flirt but not a philanderer." Smith made a note. "Is that all?"

"Well…" Purdey considered. She liked to tease Gambit about his flaws—jealousy, and the like—but by and large, there wasn't really that much to complain about.

"Bad jokes," she tried, knowing it was weak, but it was all that came to mind.

"Bad jokes," Smith repeated, clearly unimpressed.

"Ye-es," Purdey confirmed, feeling really embarrassed now.

"Anything else?" Smith sounded as though he expected her to complain about Gambit's dress sense next.

"Nothing that comes to mind," she hedged, deciding to quit while she was ahead. Just as well. She couldn't think of anything anyway.

VVVV

"Let's change tack," Smith said to Gambit, "and focus on something more positive. What do you like about your wife?"

All of the adjectives Gambit could use to describe Purdey rose to the surface at once, threatening to overwhelm his brain. He settled on, "She's brilliant," before he even had a chance to really think about it. "Beautiful. Funny. Smart as a whip. Always up for a challenge. Strong. Brave. Wonderful. And she's good company. Never a dull moment when she's around."

"That's quite a list," Smith marvelled. "You're much more effusive than you were about her dislikes."

Gambit shrugged. "It's like I said. She goes on tangents, and looks at me askance when I don't keep up, and winds me up every chance she gets, but in a strange way, I like it. And I keep coming back for more. It's as though…" He paused, searching for the right words.

"Yes?" Smith prompted.

Gambit shook his head. "I don't know. It's as though that's what draws me to her. She fascinates me, because there's no one like her. She has this energy no one else I've ever met has, and it does something to me. I can't resist it. And I don't want to." He met Smith's inquiring gaze. "I really don't want to."

VVVV

"What do you like about your husband?" Smith inquired, and Purdey found herself at a loss for words, not because she couldn't think of anything, but because it all seemed to come at once, under one broad label: Gambit. He was Gambit. And Gambit was…Gambit. And all that entailed. What she liked about Gambit was that he was Gambit. If he wasn't Gambit, well, how could she have possibly felt the way she did about him?

"He's a good man," she tried, because that was all she could really articulate just now, but Smith seemed unimpressed.

"Could you elaborate on that?"

 _I'll try_ , Purdey mused internally. "A kind man," she tried. "Loyal. Brave. Reliable. Solid. Trustworthy."

"Those are all admirable traits," Smith agreed. "But they hint at a level of detachment. I sense that the emotion is there, but for whatever reason, you're trying to keep yourself at a distance where he's concerned."

"That's ridiculous," Purdey bristled.

"Then why are you afraid to saying something more intimate?"

Purdey frowned. "Intimate?"

"Yes. You sound as though you're describing an acquaintance, as though you want to compliment him without giving away too much of yourself."

"I don't think that's true at all," Purdey shot back. "I told you what I personally like about him. I don't see how you can decide that one adjective is more intimate than any other."

Smith held up his hands in surrender. "All right, Mrs. O'Carroll. All right. I meant no offence. I simply though there might be something more meaningful you'd like to say about your husband, but if there's nothing more, I agree. They're all admirable qualities."

Purdey paused in thought. Something had just occurred to her.

"I can dance with him," she said suddenly, not even realising she'd said it. She looked down at her hands, then at her feet, moved them subconsciously in a half-step. "I hadn't danced with anyone in a very long time," she said distantly. "But the moment I did with him, it was easy. Natural. As though we'd been dancing together for years. I've never experienced anything like it." She met Smith's eyes, chin tipped up defiantly. "Is that intimate enough for you?"

VVVV

"Just one more question," Smith told Gambit, jotting down a note on his pad as he spoke. Gambit braced himself, wondering what it could be, if Smith was saving the hardest question until last. But the next words out of the man's mouth were deceptive in their simplicity. "Do you love your wife, Mr. O'Carroll?"

"Yes." The answer came out automatically, before he had a chance to think about it, and it surprised him. It surprised him even more given that he was being asked in character, about Purdey, who was also in character, and yet it came naturally to him, without thought or pretence.

Because it was true.

"How much?" Smith wanted to know.

Gambit knew he was letting his guard down, but he was too far gone even to care. Somehow the man was pulling things out of him, and he was powerless to resist. "Desperately," came the response, and he closed his eyes, as though it was almost too much to face up to. "Desperately."

VVVV

"Do you love your husband?" The question caught Purdey off-guard, enough so that she jerked in her seat. Smith, annoyingly, made another note, and Purdey jumped in before he could write any more.

"He's my husband, isn't he?" she said tartly.

"That's not an answer," Smith gently chastised, and Purdey treated him to a glare. "That's a statement of fact. It doesn't tell me anything."

Purdey was not about to go down without a fight. "Would I still be married to him if I wasn't?"

Smith shook his head. "I don't know. Would you?"

"Well…" Purdey stalled.

"Mrs. O'Carroll." Smith leaned forward. "I don't know what exactly is going on in your mind, but whatever it is, there's a degree of hesitation there. Whatever you feel, you can't admit it to yourself. So-" He sat back in his chair and regarded her expectantly. "One word. Yes or no. Do you love him?"

Purdey swallowed hard, tried to quiet her reeling mind. She could answer, but whether Smith would believe her was another matter. And she'd have to live with what she said, whatever it was. This had gone way past a cover. This was real.

"I—" she began.

"Dr. Smith?" It was the secretary, standing in Smith's office doorway, a frown marring her pretty features. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a call for you. Urgent."

Something about the way she said the last word spurred Smith into action, and Purdey saw alarm register in his eyes. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. O'Carroll," he said briskly, closing the file where he'd been taking his notes. "But I have been waiting for this call for some time. Do you mind if we suspend the session? It would only be for 20 minutes or so, if you and your husband would care to wait. You wouldn't be charged, of course."

"Of course." Purdey smiled tightly, happy she'd been saved by the bell—or the secretary—from answering Smith's question. "Michael and I will take a walk and come back when you're finished."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. O'Carroll," Smith said gratefully, gesturing for her to leave. "Very kind."

VVVV

"What did he ask you?" Purdey said casually, when she and Gambit were out of the office and sitting in their rented car, waiting to rendez-vous with Smith. "In there, I mean. Anything we could use?"

Gambit shook his head in a silent negative. He'd been quiet ever since he stepped out of the inner office, eyes distracted, as though he were miles away. "I thought as much," she went on, as though he'd provided a much more elaborate answer. "If the questions he tried on you were anything like what he tried on me, all we've gotten so far is a lot of useless observations about our fake marriage."

"The marriage is fake. Doesn't mean the observations are," Gambit muttered, and Purdey turned to him disbelief.

"What? You don't believe what he's said about us, do you?"

"Why not? It can't all be wrong."

"It certainly can!" Purdey shot back. "He's working off the ridiculous assumption that we're married, and the even more ridiculous one that you're someone's husband. It's impossible for that not to throw him off."

Gambit twisted around in his seat to face her. He suddenly looked very, very angry. "Why is it ridiculous?" he demanded.

Purdey was taken aback at his sudden change in temperament, but she was more than capable of holding her own. "I said two things were ridiculous. You'll have to be more specific."

"Why is the idea of me being someone's husband ridiculous?" Gambit snapped back, not missing a beat. "Give me a little credit."

Purdey sighed and cocked her head to one side, as though mildly chastising him for his ignorance. "Oh, come on, Gambit. You're not exactly made for monogamy, are you?"

"According to who?" He really was angry, not raising his voice, but the words were clipped and terse, the way they were when he was dealing with the enemy. Which, unaccountably, she had somehow become. "When have I ever said anything about being married?"

"It's now what you say, it's what you do," Purdey shot back. "The little black book springs to mind. 'A slim volume of hints for a growing boy.' It doesn't exactly scream monogamy, does it?"

"Maybe I'm just looking for the right girl," Gambit countered. "Maybe I'd give it all up for her. Maybe all I've ever wanted is to find her."

Purdey arched an eyebrow. "And have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Found her?"

There was a pause, and Purdey suddenly realised she was terrified of the answer, and at the same time desperately wanted to know it. Gambit froze. She froze. The pause became pregnant, something Purdey found herself wondering if Gambit's hypothetical wife would ever be.

As quickly as it had sprung up, Gambit's anger dissipated. He slumped back in his seat in defeat. "Never mind," he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "If that's really what you think of me…" He bit his lip and cut himself off, closed his eyes as if trying to block out a line of thought. "It doesn't matter." He opened the car door and stepped out.

"Where are you going? Gambit!" Purdey called after him, leaning across the gap between the seats to keep him in view. "We're not due back at the office for another ten minutes!"

He stopped, but didn't turn to face her. "I know," he said levelly, almost too levelly. "I'm going for a walk." And with that, he put actions to words, moving away from her at a quick pace. Purdey watched his retreating back with a mixture of puzzlement and concern, and desperately tried to fight off the sudden, irrational fear that he might not come back.

VVVV

He did come back, in the end, just in time for their meeting with Smith. Purdey was waiting for him on the steps of the building, and she breathed a small sigh of relief when she saw the tall, slim figure making its way toward her. He didn't look angry when he returned, but he didn't look happy, either. There was a practiced neutrality to his features that told her nothing. "Ready?" he inquired, tone professionally distant.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Let's go."

The secretary showed them back into Smith's office, and told them to take a seat, assured them that Smith wouldn't keep them. They spent the time in awkward silence, unable to break character unless someone was listening, unable to meet one another's eyes to communicate silently, until Smith breezed in and put them out of their misery.

"So sorry to keep you waiting," he apologised, settling into the chair behind his desk. "Something needed taking care of that couldn't wait. I appreciate your patience."

Purdey mustered up her best smile, but it felt thin and tight. "It was no trouble, really."

Smith smiled back, but there was a reptilian quality that set the hair on the back of her neck on end. "You're too kind. Now, then, I've had a look at my notes." He indicated two files on the desk in front of him. "And I've come to the conclusion that there are some rather troubling signs in your relationship, and therefore your marriage."

Purdey and Gambit straightened up with a start. "What?" Purdey asked in surprise.

"What do you mean?" Gambit asked simultaneously.

Smith looked grave. "Well, the results of your private sessions were very telling. I could sense immediately that there was a dissonance between you, no meeting of the minds in the way you see the marriage."

Gambit looked crestfallen. Purdey looked stunned. There was a pause as they digested this. "Oh," Purdey commented finally.

Smith nodded sagely. "Yes. Of course it's only to be expected."

Gambit snapped out of his reverie. "It is?"

"Yes," Smith confirmed. "Given that you're a pair of Ministry agents masquerading as a married couple." He slid the two files toward them, and photos spilled out. Official photos from their dossiers at the Ministry. Purdey and Gambit reacted in alarm, rising from their seats, but Smith kept talking, calm, cool, and collected.

"Ministry agents Gambit and Purdey. Did you really think you'd be able to walk in here without me working who you are? Did you take me for a fool?"

Gambit and Purdey were out of the chairs now, making for the door, only to discover that there were now two burly henchmen in the room, blocking their way. Automatically, they fell into a fighting stance, arms raised, bodies tensed for action, wordlessly divvying up their opponents and working out a plan of attack.

"I wouldn't bother wasting your time, if I were you," Smith advised, still seated at his desk. You've been drugged. Sedative, absorbed through the skin. The arm rests on your chairs were covered with it. You'll be out in a minute or two."

"Who's to say you won't be out before us?" Gambit snapped back, and the pair flew into action.

Smith shrugged. "You can try, but it's a waste of energy. You'll never make it far." He watched with mild interest as they fought, saw one of Gambit's blows miss by a mile. "You're already being affected, getting sloppy."

"Mike!" Purdey said in alarm, noticing his slowed reflexes.

"I know," he said tersely. "Watch yourself!"

Purdey tried to, but the world was already blurring together before her eyes. She saw a shape fall in her peripheral vision, and turned just in time to see Gambit fall to the floor, unconscious. She had barely any time to register her distress at his condition before she, too, succumbed, collapsing next to him in a heap.

Smith rose from his desk and moved toward them, cast an evaluative eye over their crumpled, helpless forms. "Load them up," he instructed his goons. "Carefully. And make sure they're restrained. We can't have them escaping on us. Yet." He shot a knowing look at his henchmen. "Quickly now. We're abandoning this place. They'll come looking for them soon enough. Clean-up should be finished in twenty minutes."

VVVV

_**Ten days later...** _

Purdey opened her bedroom door silently, and peered out into the darkened halls. She could see from her vantage point that the crack beneath Steed's bedroom door was devoid of light, and a glance in the opposite direction revealed no light filtering up from the living area onto the staircase to the second floor. Satisfied that Steed had finally gone to bed, she stepped into the corridor, closing the door carefully behind her, and stole out into the shadows. Her soft boots moved soundlessly over the carpeted floors, and she took care to avoid every treacherous, creaky floorboard, the locations of which she'd committed to memory these past few days. She used her ballet training to expertly shift her weight as need be as she hurried down the stairs, weaved her way through the furniture in the living area, and finally reached the interior door which would take her from the manor house to the garage, where all of Steed's cars were just sitting there, waiting to whisk her away from here.

Once inside the garage, she risked flicking on the light, if only because it would prove nigh on impossible to navigate the room in the dark, and the last thing she needed was to fall over something, hurt herself, and cause a racket. She hadn't been able to memorise the layout in there as she had the house—Steed would have grown suspicious if she'd kept making trips out to look at the cars. Besides, she needed light to locate the keys where they hung on the pegboard, and to open the garage door, so it was a calculated risk, and anyway, there were hardly any windows in here, so the chances of Steed catching sight of the light spilling out onto the driveway were slim-to-none.

Purdey surveyed the keys on the board quickly and efficiently, opting for those belonging to Steed's Yellow Rover over those of his Jaguar. It was the more practical of the two, and the one she had a better chance of manoeuvring out of the building quickly and cleanly. Besides, if she was going to be absconding with one of Steed's cars, it really wasn't fair to the senior agent to choose his pride and joy as her getaway car. The Rover didn't hold anywhere near the same place in his heart.

Snatching the keys, Purdey hurried over to the wall near the door, and pressed the button to activate the garage door mechanism, before dashing to the car and climbing inside. As the door rose, she inserted the key in the ignition and turned the engine over. The Rover, much to Purdey's dismay, stubbornly refused to start. Undeterred, she tried again, listening to the wail that singularly failed to turn into the pleasing growl of a well-running engine. The garage door was completely open now, spilling light out onto the driveway and the outside world. Purdey was a sitting duck, exposed to any and all who might happen to glance out the window at just that moment, having been awoken by the sound of the car.

She was just about to make a third attempt at starting the vehicle, when something moved in her peripheral vision. Her head flew up to see, through the windscreen, a hand holding a small cap between its thumb and forefinger. The hand was attached to a well-attired arm, and she followed it to a similarly smartly-attired body, the mouth of which smiled apologetically at her.

"I rather think your problem is this," he explained, rolling the cap between the fingers. "Or the lack of it, to be more specific. I had a feeling you might be in the mood for an evening drive, so I took the precaution of removing this from all the cars. Simple, but very effective."

Purdey slumped back in her seat, knowing when was well and truly beat. "You needn't look so smug about it," she snapped. "I might have called a cab."

"You might have," Steed agreed, moving to press the button that would close the garage door once more. "But making your way to the front gate in the dark would have been a mite hazardous. Not the best strategy. And I also had the gate locked, which would have proved inconvenient."

Purdey treated him with a glare, slamming the car door shut behind her in a way meant to convey her displeasure. "The trouble with you, Steed, is that you seem to think everyone's as devious as you are."

"It's only fair, my dear," Steed said unconcernedly. "You should be flattered I thought highly enough of you to cover all the options. Even the most improbable."

"Such as?"

"Well, the stables, of course," Steed said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I had them locked up, as well as all the equipment, and one of the staff is keeping the horses company this evening. Not that you couldn't overcome all those obstacles if you put your mind to it, but I thought the odds were against you attempting to ride bareback all the way to London." He swept an arm toward the door from whence she'd come, leading back into the house. "Shall we?"

Purdey, with no other real options, stalked back inside, followed closely by Steed. He still held the cap, and part of her was horrified at the fact that she briefly considered trying to immobilise him and take it from him in an attempt to make a dash for freedom. But she'd already lost one partner in the past week. She didn't need to alienate the other. But that didn't mean she couldn't tear a strip off him for being too damned clever for his own good. They'd barely gotten inside before Steed flipped the light on, and she wheeled on him.

"So I'm a prisoner!" she accused, blue eyes flashing. "Is that it?"

Steed regarded her coolly. "I prefer to think of it as protective custody."

"It doesn't matter what you call it. It amounts to the same thing," Purdey countered, fuming, but Steed simply stepped past her and crossed the living area to where he kept the drinks. "And it's not right. Not in the least."

"It's for your own safety," Steed asserted, pouring some brandy into a glass and returning to where she stood.

"My safety!" Purdey's fists were clenching and unclenching with rage. "What about Gambit's safety? If someone had been looking out for us, if we'd had someone watching the clinic, maybe we would have had back-up to intervene before...before..." She couldn't say it. "Maybe he'd still be alive," she said instead. "But no one did, and now he's gone. And now that I want to do something about it, you won't let me."

Steed shook his head. "I'm sorry, Purdey."

"Sorry?!" she screamed in disbelief. "Sorry? That's all you have to say? Don't you care about what happened to Gambit?"

"Of course I care!" Steed shot back, and for the first time, there was anger in his voice, and Purdey withheld the urge to step back a pace. An angry Steed was not to be trifled with. "He was, or rather _is_ , a friend and colleague, and I owe him my life several times over. Which is why I owe it to him to keep you here. If he's alive, the last thing he needs is for you to go into the world with revenge on your mind, barging your way in where you're not wanted, and putting your own life on the line as well as his. And if he is dead, he'd never forgive me if I stood by and allowed you to go out without a clear head, blinded by sorrow and hatred, and just as likely to be killed as not. Gambit wouldn't want you to end up dead on his account, and I don't intend to let that happen. Until I can trust you not to take any rash actions, then this is the best way I can help both of you."

"If it were me, Gambit would be out there right now, hunting down my killers," Purdey persisted. "You know that."

"I do. And I'd be keeping much the same tabs on him as I am you." He held out the glass of brandy to Purdey, and she snatched it from his grasp.

"I don't care. You still have no right to stop me. Do you hear me? No right!" With that, she flung the glass, brandy and all, at the wall, where it shattered, splashing the contents half over the paint, half over a watercolour which had the misfortune of being near the point of impact. Purdey stood for a moment, riveted to the spot. And then, as the first drops of the dark liquid began to drip from the frame into a puddle, oozing over the shards of glass scattered over the floor, she seemed to realise what she'd done, and she deflated considerably as the anger flowed out of her.

"Oh, Steed," she murmured, blue eyes impossibly wide as she turned to look up at him. "Steed, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"I do," Steed said warmly, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her to his chest. "And it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I just want to do something. Anything. For him," Purdey whispered into his shirt. She pulled away slightly so she could survey the damage. "Was it very valuable?"

"Well, it was a very good vintage."

"I meant the painting."

"Oh." Steed transferred his attentions from the puddle of liquid to the watercolour. "Possibly. It came with the house. I've never been terribly fond of it."

"Well, thank goodness for that, then," Purdey tried to laugh, but it turned into a sob. Steed held her closer, but that didn't seem to do any good. "He's not coming back, Steed," she quavered.

"We still don't know that."

"Yes, we do," she sniffled, pulling away and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "And someone should pay for it. They should pay for taking him away. And I have to make them do it. I have to. Don't you see?" She held his gaze, trying to make him understand. "It's all I can do for him. I should have done more for him when he was alive, but I lost my chance. Now all I can do is give him justice. See to it that he's properly laid to rest and is never forgotten. If I can't do that..." She broke off as another sob shook her. Steed took her by the shoulders and gently guided her toward the stairs.

"We'll make sure he gets everything he deserves," he promised Purdey. "And that he's not forgotten. But there's nothing to be done just now. Go and get some sleep, Purdey. You need a clear head to think straight. You won't do Gambit any good otherwise."

She nodded, started up the stairs, then looked over her shoulder at him. "I can't let him down, Steed. And I won't. You can't stop me forever."

Steed nodded once, curtly. "I understand," he said seriously. "And I don't mean to keep you from doing so. But I want you to do it in the right way. You owe that to both Gambit and yourself."

She seemed to see the logic in that, nodded in response. "Good-night, Steed."

"Sleep well, Purdey. If you can."


	7. Dead & Gone

Steed rifled through the wardrobe in search of a replacement riding crop. He'd somehow contrived to break the one he usually used by carelessly wedging it between the slats of a fence so he could tend to his horse, and then backing into it at an awkward angle. He knew he had a spare somewhere. It was usually reserved for use by guests as it wasn't to his taste, but it would work in a pinch until he could have a new one made to his specifications. He'd been riding quite a bit the past few days, ever since he'd satisfied himself that Purdey could be left to her own devices for an hour or two without any disastrous consequences. Not that he believed she was liable to top herself given the chance, but, well, he hadn't really known what Purdey was capable of for the better part of the past week. Now she was eating more or less regularly, and seemed to be snatching enough sleep to function, but she drifted around the manor house looking pale and fragile, and Steed didn't believe for a minute that she'd recovered. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely certain if she ever would, not completely. He didn't have a template to work from when it came to Purdey and immobilising grief. The closest he had to previous experience was the episode with Larry Doomer. But her mourning period following that particular event had been interrupted by her subsequent drugging by a double agent, causing her to slip into a coma. Purdey eventually awoke, thankfully, and when she did, she saw the situation more clearly than she had when she went under. Despite the pain of reopened wounds, she had realised that, regardless of how much Doomer's death had shaken her, he was nothing more than a ghost of a past life she hadn't lived for some time, and which had been replaced by a new, vibrant existence, with friends and colleagues and a job that brought her more happiness than she could ever have anticipated, and that it would be madness to throw it all away for a man she thought she loved, more out of habit than anything else. It was that same realisation which had allowed her to finally lay her father's ghost to rest, knowing that, despite how much she would always miss him, she could accept his loss and still be happy.

But even though Steed didn't think she needed quite as close an eye kept on her now, believed that she could be trusted to leave the confines of the stud farm without doing anything rash, there was little in the outside world to distract her from her lot. Work normally provided a refuge, a way to keep her mind occupied until the feelings faded and dulled to the point that they were manageable. But to work an assignment now would remind her of her loss at every turn, of the fact that their team had been reduced from three to two, leaving her painfully aware of the void in the seat next to her, or across the table. Friends weren't really a viable option for distraction, either, for security reasons, and besides, Steed wasn't certain how much of a social life Purdey had outside the Ministry circle. The job could be all-encompassing, and it was difficult to forge any real relationships outside of the department. Most of the people Purdey had gone dancing with were Ministry employees of one kind or another, and Gambit had almost always been among them, when he and Purdey hadn't ventured out as a twosome. Steed had gently suggested that she might want to visit her mother, but she'd shaken her head and murmured something about be too many questions she didn't know the answers to. That left Steed, the only person with the clearance and the facts to understand the situation. He was happy to support her, of course, was glad to literally give her a shoulder to cry on, and lend an ear to her midnight ramblings, and he would continue to do so until she decided otherwise, but even he needed to get away on occasion. Riding occupied his body and cleared his mind. While he was out on horseback, he could almost delude himself into believing that when he returned, he would be met by two bright, vibrant colleagues, not a solitary wraith. And it was for that reason that he needed the riding crop. He dug farther back into the depths of the wardrobe, continuing his search. He knew it had to be somewhere.

He found a pair of riding boots instead. Gambit's riding boots.

Steed stared at them for a moment, before sitting back on his haunches, more than a little taken aback. It shouldn't have been surprising, but it was. After all, Gambit himself had told Steed that he'd rather leave them at the farm—"What am I going to do with them in the city? Go for a run?"—and since Steed had given him free rein to change in any guest room he chose, it was only natural that Gambit would stash his footwear in the wardrobe with the intention of coming back and using them the next time. He had no reason to think there wouldn't be a next time. But now there would be no next times, and for some reason, that thought suddenly struck Steed so hard he was finding it difficult to remain upright. He set the boots down and sat down properly, pondering them with a blank gaze.

Up until now, he'd held out hope that Gambit was still alive, not quite believing Purdey's account, in spite of her protestations that no one could possibly survive what Gambit had endured. He'd put out bulletins to all the other intelligence agencies to be on the lookout for him, made inquiries, pressed anyone and everyone who would listen into aiding his cause. But now, nearly a week after the dark day, looking at these boots, he found himself suddenly accepting it. Gambit wasn't coming back. Not now. Not ever.

In all his time in the field, John Steed had never lost a partner. Oh, he'd lost friends, and colleagues. People he'd worked with, often very closely. But even though it hurt, he could put some distance between himself and his grief. The job was a blessing that way—one could always throw oneself into the fray and forget about it. The wheels churned on, and that was comforting in its way. But the people he partnered with had always gone on to have a life beyond him, never fallen in the line of duty. This time, the wheels had ground to a halt. John Steed had lost a partner and in turn was, unaccustomedly, at a loss.

He felt as though he should cry, but he wasn't certain he knew how. He didn't remember the last time he'd shed actual tears. He remembered times when he thought he should, could feel the emotions boiling away behind his eyes, threatening to break through in ghastly great floods, but somehow he always managed to keep them at bay. After so many years' practice, it had become more or less automatic to deny the urge, to the point that he didn't know any other way of coping.

He looked forlornly at the boots, feeling as though he was betraying Gambit somehow, but then Gambit saw through the facade better than most when it came to Steed. Not many managed it, but those that did he prized for their exceptionality. Cathy Gale had, understood him to the point that she could no longer ignore what she perceived to be his faults for the sake of the greater good. Emma Peel knew him better than he knew himself, but was sure enough of herself and her place in his life that she was confident that Steed would forgo any egregious betrayals of trust, if only because to act otherwise would cause him to be swiftly deprived of her company. Purdey and Tara King had come to him believing too much of the legend to see the real man, though the shine had eventually left Tara's eyes, and Steed had no doubt Purdey would follow suit someday soon. David Keel had been just as clear-eyed as Cathy, perhaps more so because he subscribed to the view that the only way to counter Steed was to push back just as hard or harder whenever he was pushed, even if it meant throwing punches and bruising jaws. David Keel may have been a healer by trade, but he knew how to dish out the damage as well remedy it, and with a ruthlessness that sometimes took Steed himself by surprise. There was some of that in Gambit when Steed first met him, that burning intensity behind the eyes that acted as a warning to any and all who might dare to lead him on a dance. Gambit had come from the same Ministry courses that shaped Purdey and Tara, but unlike them, he hadn't fallen prey to hero-worship. If anything, the stories of Steed's exploits had made him more wary, less likely to be deceived by the senior agent's charm. The day Steed had met Gambit in that corridor outside Kendrick's office, Gambit hadn't shown deference. He was suspicious, self-assured, had told Steed outright that he knew about his methods—'games' he called them. Gambit didn't play games, not those sorts of games. He didn't respond well to lies, to being deceived or manipulated. After their first assignment together, Steed had made a bargain—no games in exchange for Gambit joining the stable of agents under his command. Gambit accepted. It was trite, not to mention somewhat inaccurate, to say the rest was history, but there was some truth to it. Lie to Mike Gambit, and he would rebel violently. But explain the situation, give him all the pieces of the puzzle, sketch out the scenario, and he would follow you into the breach no matter how long the odds, if you asked. And Steed had asked. Gambit never let him down.

That didn't mean he'd become subservient, not by a long shot. Gambit was never afraid to challenge his boss, not when his views clashed violently with Steed's own. On the other hand, he never disagreed just for the sake of it, either, didn't disregard orders out of a misplaced desire to be independent. Steed was the master, and Gambit was the pupil, and those roles were well-understood. But despite their unequal stature in the Ministry, as well as in life, Gambit defied classification as either underling or partner. He was simply a good man to have around. A good colleague, a good confidant. A good friend.

Steed looked at the boots again. When it became clear that Gambit was going to be Steed's partner, there'd been some good-natured teasing from the other agents. Did Gambit think he was going to replace Steed? Was he going to get a bowler made in his own size? Gambit had batted it away with some good-natured wisecrack, but the fact of the matter was, Steed had never thought of Gambit as his replacement, not in so many words. Oh, there was no question he imparted his wisdom to Mike whenever possible, but he did that to Purdey too. The pair of them were meant to be his legacy, that much he did admit to, but not replacements. He never expected either of them to be like him, to work the same way he did. To think otherwise would be madness, just as it would be if Steed attempted to ape them. He would be quite content if they went on to outshine him in their respective careers. But they would do so as themselves, not by filling John Steed's shoes. But just as Steed hadn't meant for Gambit to fill his shoes, he knew, instinctively, that there was no one on earth who could fill Gambit's, either. No one else knew how to needle him enough to keep things interesting, to add a bite to their team dynamics, and yet still be capable of turning round and taking into confidence old war stories that sometimes reared their ugly heads and rested heavily on his shoulders, and doing so with a clear-eyed understanding born of experience, and empathy that never devolved into pity. Mike Gambit had, more often than Steed would admit, saved his life, and not just from something as crude as a bullet in the field. Much to Steed's amazement, he felt a pricking in his eye, and he charted the course of a single, solitary tear down his cheek. He wiped it away and stared at the water on his fingers with mild bemusement.

"You've realised he's not coming back, haven't you?" The voice came from the doorway. Steed's head snapped up. Purdey was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a shawl draped over hunched shoulders.

Steed shook his head, determined to bolster her spirits. "We don't know that."

"Yes, we do," Purdey said softly, but firmly. She drifted gracefully into the room to perch on the edge of the bed, hands a tangle in her lap. "You know because I know, and I know because I was there."

Steed picked himself up from the floor and joined her on the edge of the bed. "Kendrick's findings were inconclusive. He's on the watch lists. Someone in one of the services could run across him eventually."

Purdey shook her head. "It's one week tomorrow," she reminded, meeting Steed's eyes. "One week since I saw him die. If he was alive, there'd be some trace. But there's been nothing." She bit her lip. "Smith has gone to ground. If he had Mike, he'd use him as a bargaining chip, or sell his secrets on to the highest bidder. But he hasn't. And procedure says—"

"You can't run your life on procedure," Steed cut in. "Procedure doesn't allow for hope, for chance, for unexpected happenings, for long odds. And Gambit was always one for long odds. Something to do with the surname, I'd hazard."

Purdey's mouth quirked up a little at that, but she was unmoved. "One of us had to run out of chances eventually. We all knew it. Mike was the one it happened to, that's all." She covered her hand with his, nodded at the floor. "You found his boots."

"Yes," Steed confirmed. "I wasn't looking for them," he added, just in case she thought he was getting maudlin.

"I know," Purdey said. "But you found them, maybe for a reason. You were crying Steed."

"Slight watering of the eyes. Probably due to the dust."

"I've never seen you cry," Purdey pressed on. "Not ever, not even when all those friends of yours died. You move on, you close the file. That's what you told me." She squeezed the hand. "I never understood what you meant, until now. Because as long as you try not to accept it, it never gets better. It hurts, hurts forever and ever. And I can't live with that pain, Steed. If I'm going to survive this, if we are, then we need to accept he's gone. We need to close the file." She sniffed, and a tear slid down her cheek. "I want to make a statement. Procedure says deaths witnessed in the field can be logged, even without physical evidence. I want to close his file. Let his family know. Have a memorial. We owe him that much. Mike wouldn't want us to live in limbo forever."

Steed held her eyes for a long time. He saw the pain, and the knowledge, the hideous confirmation of his fears that he'd been ignoring until now. "No, he wouldn't," he agreed, finally succumbing to the inevitability of it all. "We'll go tomorrow."

VVV

McBain leaned across the plain, black-topped table and pressed the record button on the tape recorder. "Record begins at 11:15 on September 17, 1977. Present are Callum McBain, identification number 434-534-5654, and Purdey Bryde. Purdey, please state your identification number for the record."

Purdey was seated across the table from McBain, clad in a subdued navy wool dress with matching wool jacket. A single string of pearls encircled her neck. She looked put-together, make-up perfectly applied, not a hair out of place, but there was a brittleness to her features that the make-up could not conceal, and the emptiness in her eyes betrayed her sorrow. There was nowhere in the world she wanted to be less than this debriefing room with McBain, and yet she had to be here. For herself. For Gambit. For Steed. All she could hope for was that it would be as quick and painless as possible.

Purdey leaned forward in her seat so the microphone could better pick up her voice, and recited from memory, "385-959-3954."

"Thank you." McBain opened a file resting on the desk before him, and skimmed the contents before speaking again. "The purpose of this oral debriefing is to confirm, for the record, the status of Ministry agent Michael Alan Gambit, identification number 754-892-3437. As of this moment, Gambit is currently designated missing in action, presumed dead. Remains believed to be his were recovered at his last known location, but their condition was such that a completely positive identification is impossible. Purdey, as the last person known to see Gambit alive, is here to state, for the record, whether Gambit should still be considered an active field operative, and if resources should continue to be allocated for his search, or if his file should be closed. To this end, I will be posing a number of questions to Purdey. Purdey, do you understand the purpose of this debriefing?"

Purdey swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "Yes," she rasped.

McBain nodded once, curtly. "Good. Then we shall begin. Purdey, according to your report, you were assigned, along with Gambit, to the Smith operation, by John Steed. Is that correct?"

"Correct," Purdey confirmed.

"And during the course of that assignment, a series of events unfolded, all of which you have detailed in your report. I have a summary of those events, as I understand them, before me. I shall proceed to read them out, and I would appreciate it if you would stop me if I should say anything with which you disagree or wish to clarify. Do you understand?"

"She'd have to be mad not to," Steed commented, monitoring his young colleague through the glass of the debriefing room's one-way mirror and half-lidded grey eyes. "McBain's turn of phrase would insult a small child."

"And that's exactly the way it should be," Thomas McKay, standing beside his old friend, asserted. "There's a reason we don't make a habit of conducting these sorts of debriefings. There's so much at stake. Declaring an agent killed in action without more than half a body, solely on one witness' word? Have you any idea how dangerous that could be?"

"Yes," Steed said tersely. "I was listed as dead the whole of my time in Nee San. Had someone, somewhere, in the bureaucracy been blessed with an optimistic personality, they may have made more of an effort to find Bill Bassett and myself." He set his jaw grimly at the memories, and their ramifications, and McKay's eyes slid sideways to regard him.

"Exactly. This means we're officially giving up on Gambit. No inquiries, no follow-up. As far as the Ministry's concerned, from this day forward, he'll be considered as dead as he would if he were lying in Kendrick's morgue right at this moment. That's why McBain has to dot the proverbial i's and cross the proverbial t's, ensure that we have our facts straight. If we closed the file based on some misunderstanding, no matter how slight, we could be leaving ourselves open to all sort of nasty business. Faking your own death is one of the oldest tricks in the book when it comes to defection."

"Only you know as well as I that Gambit wouldn't defect," Steed said with feeling. "Not at any price. And if he did, he certainly wouldn't be careless enough to leave Purdey as a witness."

"Unless, of course, she was in on it," McKay observed blithely, and the gaze Steed turned on him was steely.

"This isn't the time or the place for this conversation," he warned. "Or are you intentionally trying to provoke a reaction?"

McKay returned the gaze unconcernedly. "I thought I was being rather optimistic, actually. You and Purdey seem determined to give him up for dead. At least I'm willing to consider the possibility that he's still alive."

Steed looked defeated at that. "I did," he murmured. "Until last night."

"And now you don't?"

"We haven't found any sign that he's being held somewhere. I should have received some report, some clue, if he was being held. He's too valuable to sit on forever. But there's been nothing." He sighed. "On top of it all, Purdey has unwaveringly believed he's gone all this time. And I believe Purdey."

"Why?"

"Why not? She has no reason to lie about it." Steed sighed. "She's the last person on earth who'd want it to be true. I held Gambit in high regard, as you know. But Purdey cared about him deeply."

"Yes, probably a little too deeply," McKay said pragmatically. "All right, I believe she didn't want him dead, but I still don't understand why you don't think she was mistaken."

Steed watched her answer her questions with sad eyes. "If you'd seen her face when I found her, you wouldn't need to ask," he said simply. "The shock, the devastation. No one is that talented of an actress. No, she saw what she saw, and she saw it clearly. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have run, she wouldn't have left him behind. Not unless she knew there was no hope." He turned back to his old friend. "She's suffering terribly. We both are. Neither of us wants to believe that there's no chance, but holding out hope where there is none will only prolong things. The only way we can hope to move on, if indeed we can, is to put an end to pointless speculation. You close the file, you move on."

"Yes, that's always been your motto, hasn't it, John?" McKay said knowingly. "The trouble is, some files are harder to close than others."

"I know, Tommy. I think this may be the hardest of all."

"Is that everything?" Purdey was saying. "I've told you what happened."

"Very nearly," McBain replied, finishing a note in his file. "Just one more box to be ticked. I need you to confirm that the man you claim you saw die is, in fact, Mike Gambit." He withdrew a black and white photograph from the file, turned it around, and slid it across the table to Purdey. "That photograph is from Gambit's personnel file. Kindly confirm whether or not this likeness corresponds with that of the man who died."

Purdey didn't look down, instead fixing McBain with an unwavering glare. "Do you honestly believe that I didn't know what he looked like, McBain?" she demanded, voice terse and brittle. "If I close my eyes, I can see him lying there, the expression on his face, the way his lips moved and his hair fell. I can hear his voice and the very last words he ever said. I worked side-by-side with him for nearly two years. I would never mistake him for someone else, because he would never be just someone else. I saw him when he was alive, and I saw him die. If I had any doubts, any at all, that Gambit was dead, do you think I'd be here now?"

"What I think doesn't matter," McBain replied calmly, folding his hands, the picture of control. "It's a matter of procedure."

"Yes, well, I wasn't aware it was procedure to prolong the interviewee's misery."

"The sooner you make a positive identification," McBain said soothingly, reasonably, "the sooner this will all be over."

Purdey's mask, up to this point kept more or less securely in place, slipped, just for a moment, and Steed could tell the idea of confronting the picture was almost too much for her. She'd taken to placing all the photographs of Gambit at the stud farm face down. When Steed had asked her about it, she'd told him they summoned up the image of Gambit's dead body in her mind's eye. Until it faded into something less-than-vivid, she had no desire to relive those hellish moments. But here, for this, she had to.

McBain was watching her, watching and waiting. "Of course, if you feel you can't complete interview at this time, we can always reconvene at some later date..."

"No." Purdey didn't want to drag this out. She wouldn't, couldn't, make it through another of these sessions, not without breaking down entirely. "No, I'll make the identification." She lifted a ghost-white hand from beneath the tabletop, drew the photo toward her with her fingertips, then lifted it up to inspect the face staring back at her. She saw the eyes, the mouth, the curls, the broken nose, and, for once, not the bullethole. "Yes," she said softly, tenderly tracing the line of the jaw. "Yes, that's him. It was Mike." She set the photo down again, and added ruefully. "It was always Mike."

"Thank you." McBain retrieved the photograph, returned it to the file with his notes. "Right, that concludes the interview. Thank you, Purdey. Your assistance has been invaluable. You may go now."

"Thank you." Purdey nodded, just once, and rose from her chair, restraining herself from fleeing the room with unseemly haste. Steed was there when she opened the door, and his encouraging half-smile settled the fading tremors in her gut a little, but not enough. Not in the way she needed.

"Are you all right?" he inquired, following her as she set off down the corridor. She had no desire to linger and wait for McBain to emerge.

"As much as I can be, given the circumstances," she said truthfully, falling into step beside him. "The way they do these things always seems so...cold. It was the same when I lost my father. It always felt as though they were, I don't know, mothballing an old car or something. Not burying a human being."

"That's precisely the way they want it," Steed opined. "Files are easier to bury than people. It keeps things at a distance, keeps one from becoming too emotionally involved."

"I know," Purdey murmured. "But I've never been very good at it. I can't be good at it. Not when it's..." she trailed off, unable to speak of it again so soon after recounting her tale.

"I know," Steed reassured, "and I don't think the Ministry expects you to be good at it, either. You need time, we both do." He sighed at the admission, swung his umbrella, but not with his usual _joie de vivre_. "It's been a trying morning. When we get back to the stud farm, we can make something for lunch, take our minds off things."

"Actually," Purdey cut in, halting and turning her blue eyes on him, "I thought I'd go back to my flat tonight." She bit her lip nervously, waiting for his answer.

Steed frowned. "Do you think that's wise?"

Purdey shrugged. "I don't know. But I've got to learn to be alone with this sometime. I may as well start now. I've hidden away long enough, and I don't think it's helping anymore. It's certainly not going to bring Mike back."

"No. No, it won't," Steed agreed. "Promise me you'll call if all that...aloneness...gets to be too much."

She nodded. "I will," she promised, then had a thought. "Oh, Steed, I wasn't thinking about you. Will you be all right? Do you want me to come with you?"

Steed shook his head. "No, my dear. You do what you must, because you must. We all have our own ways of closing the file. I learned mine long ago." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Go. You know where to find me if you need to."

She nodded, squeezed back. "I could come tomorrow. For lunch?"

"I'll expect you. Good-bye, Purdey. And good luck."

She smiled sadly. "Thank you. I've a feeling I'll need it."

VVV

**_Seven days earlier..._ **

Purdey came round slowly, head swimming, vision blurred. It took her eyes awhile to focus, took her mind even longer to comprehend what she was seeing. But the first thing she noticed was Gambit's face, not too far from hers, his eyes closed, seemingly unconscious. She bit back the urge to call his name, instead tried to convince herself that he was uninjured. She wanted to reach out and check his pulse, but her hand wouldn't move, and when she looked down, she discovered that her hands were strapped down, and then she realised that she was on a gurney, adjusted so she was upright, strapped to the frame with her feet just touching the ground. She looked up and saw Smith, conferring with his goons. He hadn't noticed her yet, so she chanced another look at Gambit. He was coming round now, eyes cracking open, and Purdey could tell he was having also having difficulty focussing. After a moment, he caught her eye. "Okay?" he mouthed, with concern written on his features as he checked her over for visible injuries, noticing the restraints in the process. Purdey flashed him a brilliant, audacious smile in return, showing more confidence than she felt. Gambit grinned back in spite of himself, shook his head in mild disbelief. _Only you, Purdey-girl._

"Awake, are you?" Smith was striding toward them, purposefully, goons in tow. The building they were in looked like something between a lab and a warehouse, full of crates and benches cluttered with scientific equipment. "For a moment, I thought I might have miscalculated the dosage, and killed you before you could talk. That would never do. Not while we still have so much to say to one another." He stopped just short of them, face to face with Gambit, who stared back stonily.

"What makes you think we have anything to say to you?" Gambit asked levelly.

Smith's smile was small and cruel. "Oh, you'll talk," he murmured. "Or at least one of you will, so long as I have the other. I'm not a complete fraud, you know. I can read people, and there is something between you two. It's strained at the moment, but I'm betting it's not strained enough to leave you completely ambivalent to something like this." Without warning, he pulled back his fist and laid a punch square across Gambit's jaw. Mike rolled with the punch, but there was only so much he could do. Purdey saw his head snap back, saw the blood in his mouth, cringed and bit back the instinct to cry his name, but her expression betrayed her.

Smith regarded her smugly, taking delight in her dismay. "Good to know I haven't lost my touch," he self-congratulated, looking back to Gambit's murderous eyes. "I wonder how you'll react when I do the same to her." He leaned in. "Or worse."

"You touch her, you're a dead man," Gambit said darkly, voice too even, eyes impossibly cold, his visage rendered more frightening by the blood trickling down his chin.

"Excellent," Smith praised, his own gaze smug and self-satisfied. "I thought of the two, you'd be the one to show your hand first. She holds back, but you—" He grabbed a handful of Gambit's hair and yanked his head back, staring intently into his eyes. Purdey winced, but didn't cry out. It would only encourage Smith, and that was the last thing she wanted to do, no matter how much it hurt to watch in silence. "You keep things hidden—most things. But there are some things you can't hide. I know that the best lies are 99% truth, because the facts drag the lies along with them, make them plausible. I know the marriage was a lie, but the things you told me weren't. And oh, the things you told me." He looked at Purdey, who was regarding him with a look of pure hatred. "The things he said about you, my dear. Things I know for a fact he has never said to your face, but I'm sure you'd find them fascinating."

"Ignore him, Purdey," Gambit interjected, never looking away from Smith, but their captor continued.

"The things he told me tell me that if I hurt you, or had one of my friends do the honours—" He indicated the two goons. "—he would tell me anything and everything I want to know, just to make it stop. His pain is nothing to him, but yours." Gambit actually snarled at him, but Smith's grin was of wicked glee.

"Gambit won't tell you anything," Purdey snapped. "Neither of us will. If you'd read our files properly, you'd know that. You're wasting your time. So take your hands off him before you make one of us really angry."

Smith, to her surprise, released Gambit, and at first Purdey thought she'd had a small victory, but he moved toward her instead, and she realised she'd only succeeded in diverting his attention.

"Now, you," Smith began, face close to hers as he leaned in. "You play your cards close to your chest. You don't wear your heart on your sleeve like he does." He jerked his head at Gambit. "But I suspect you may have hidden depths. It makes me wonder what you'd do if I did things to him, made you watch. How long before you admitted things to yourself, and to him, that you never thought you would? Or would you maintain your control? You must be a master at it by now. Maybe you've told yourself what to feel for so long, you actually believe it. Either way, it would be a fascinating experiment."

"Yes," Purdey said coolly, refusing to show fear or that his words unnerved her. "Right up until I broke your back in three places."

Gambit grinned, and Purdey could see his teeth were red with blood. "Analyze that," he challenged.

As Smith turned away to glare at him, Purdey realised that one of the cuffs binding her wrists to the gurney was loose. She wiggled her arm and felt her hand slip through part of it. She looked to Gambit, flicked her eyes downward briefly, conveying the message— _I can get out. Distract him._ Without moving his face, his eyes told her that he understood.

"You can talk all you want about using us against each other," Gambit went on, drawing Smith away from Purdey and back toward him. "But at the end of the day, it's just torture, and we both know something about that, how to withstand it."

Smith narrowed his eyes. "Do you _want_ me to torture you, Mr. Gambit?"

"I want you to call it what it is, not dress it up as an experiment so you can feel better about it," Gambit spat. "You call yourself a scientist, but at the end of the day, pain is pain, and when you enjoy inflicting it, that makes you a sadist."

Smith actually looked annoyed. "You want pain?" he growled. "I can give you pain." And with that, he punched Gambit square in the jaw again. This time, his head snapped back violently, and Purdey winced even as she wriggled her hand out of her restraint. _When I said distract him, I didn't mean like that!_

"How did that feel?" Smith snapped, and Gambit spat blood and eyed him dangerously.

"That's the easy question. The hard one is, did you enjoy it?"

That earned him another punch, and Purdey knew she couldn't let this go on for much longer. With a final tug, her hand was free, and she whistled. Smith wheeled around, just in time to catch her foot under his chin, and he went sailing backward. Purdey set about unbinding the strap around her waist, keeping one eye open as the goons rushed her, but they were slowed by their boss' fallen body. She managed to unfasten it just as Gambit shouted. "Incoming. Three o'clock," and she twisted around on pure instinct, trusting his judgment and aiming her right foot blindly. She caught her attacker square in the chest with a roundhouse kick, sending him staggering backwards. She caught sight of the other goon in her peripheral vision, making straight for her. Her right hand was still tethered, so she couldn't break away to fight. But at the angle she was at in relation to Gambit, she could just brace her hand on his left shoulder, using him for leverage as she sent her left leg kicking up behind her, catching him under the chin as well, and listening with satisfaction as he hit the ground with a "thud."

She was face-to-face with Gambit now, and he was smiling, a congratulatory smile born of respect and admiration, and she felt relief wash over her that their previous altercation seemed to have been forgotten for the time being.

"I knew you were the sort of girl who just can't stay tied down," he said with a wink, and she smirked in satisfaction before reaching over to undo her other cuff.

"Don't get any ideas, Mike Gambit," she warned playfully. "And as usual, you left me with all the hard work."

"I was the moral support," Gambit said cheerfully, watching her undo the cuff and then bring her hands around to work on the strap across his waist. "Anyway, I didn't want to spoil your fun."

"You have a twisted concept of fun, Mike Gambit."

"True," Gambit agreed. "That's why we get on so well." They exchanged smiles, and Purdey was about to respond when his face contorted in alarm, and he yelled, "Look out!"

She threw herself sideways on pure instinct, just as the sound of a gun shot rang out. As she hit the ground and executed a forward roll, she caught a glimpse of Smith, gun in hand, the weapon scavenged from one of his fallen goons. _A gun. Of course there was a gun_ , she chastised herself mentally, even as she began evasive manoeuvres, ducking under the lab's furniture, staying just far enough ahead of Smith's shots as he sent them pinging off metal and splintering wood.

She fled as far and as fast as she could, putting as much distance between Smith and herself as possible, counting the shots as she went. Four. Five. Six. She heard the click as the gun came up empty, heard Smith's curse and the "thunk" as he tossed it uselessly aside. By then she was behind a huge crate shoved against the wall near a window. She knew this was her chance to get the lay of the land, peeked around the corner, just in time to see Smith crouch and pull a gun from inside the jacket of his other goon.

"Purdey!" he called, climbing to his feet. "I know you're out there somewhere. I know you can hear me. So listen carefully. Either you give yourself up, or—" He pointed the gun at Gambit, still strapped helplessly to his gurney, pulled back the safety. "Or I'll kill your colleague. Your choice."

Purdey felt her mouth go dry as she saw the barrel of the gun level at Gambit's head. He was staring it down, jaw working, grim, gaze holding steady. "Don't listen to him, Purdey," he said firmly. "You've got a chance to get away. Take it."

"I'm not leaving you," she called back, her own jaw set stubbornly. "We're leaving together or not at all."

"Purdey, no," Gambit countered. "One of us needs to report back. Someone needs to put the word out and stop this bastard." Purdey saw Smith's finger tighten on the trigger, but Gambit grinned a grim grin. "And I'm a little tied up just now, so I don't think I can manage it."

Purdey snorted at his bad pun—only Gambit would say something like that at a time like this-but felt grateful for it all the same. "I'll find a way to get you out," she asserted. "And he can't stop me."

"Don't test me, Purdey," Smith snapped. "I'll kill him. I'm a scientist. I'm not afraid to take risks to get results."

"Don't listen to him, Purdey," Gambit cut in. "He won't kill me. He's got too much to lose. I can't talk if I'm dead, and I'm no use as leverage against you, either. He can't afford to kill me."

"He can hurt you," Purdey shot back.

"Yes," Gambit confirmed. "But pain I can take. I can control it. You in pain I can't do a damned thing about, and that scares me."

Purdey felt tears swell in her eyes, willed herself not to cry. "How can you say things like that and then expect me to leave you here?"

"Purdey, please." Gambit was pleading now, begging. "Get out. There's nothing we can do if we're both locked up. You need to report in. It's the best chance we have."

"But I-"

"Go!" Gambit ordered.

"Enough!" Smith broke in. "Purdey, my patience has worn thin. You have five seconds to give yourself up, or I _will_ kill him."

"Gambit!" Purdey cried in alarm.

"Five!"

"Don't do it," Gambit said firmly.

"Four."

"Mike, he'll kill you."

"Three."

"Don't listen to him, Purdey. Run, while you still have a chance, damn it."

"Two."

Purdey heard the word, felt time stand still. "I can't," she said softly, and suddenly she was stepping out from behind the crate.

"One."

"Wait!" Purdey cried, arm outstretched. But Smith didn't seem to hear, or didn't want to. His finger tightened on the trigger, the gun exploded, and Gambit's head snapped back violently, a neat hole appearing in his forehead a split second before blood splattered behind it onto the gurney. Purdey saw it all happen as if in slow motion. And then, as his head fell forward lifelessly, the world suddenly clicked back into real time, and the full ramifications of what had just happened suddenly sank into her numb, shocked brain.

"NO!" Purdey screamed, the words tearing at her throat, eyes wide and riveted on Gambit's lifeless body. "Mike!" She started to run for him, forgetting about Smith, about the heavies, about the lab, the assignment, Steed, the gun, her past, her whole life. It all took a backseat to Gambit, and the blood trickling down his forehead. It was all she saw, all she could ever see.

Of course, that didn't stop Smith from swinging his gun around and aiming it at her. She sensed it more than saw it, somewhere outside her peripheral vision, and instinct took over as he pulled the trigger, sending her into evasive action. She dodged the first bullet, weaving to the side and feeling the heat of it pass over her shoulder. She changed course, ducking and weaving between the furniture, hearing the bullets shatter things in her wake. Through a haze, she saw the window, tucked just behind the crate where she'd sought shelter before. Automatically, she picked up speed, pelting straight for it, head down, arms pumping, ignoring the bullets.

She leapt, tucked her head down, wrapped her arms around it. The window shattered around her, the jagged edges of broken glass tearing her clothes, scratching her flesh, scattering into her hair.

She hit the ground wrong, and hard. It was a one-storey building so she didn't have far to fall, but she still ended up taking the impact on her right side, cried out as her shoulder slammed into the hard earth. Pain flashed through her, but her adrenaline was pumping, and she knew Smith was coming. She dragged herself to her feet, started running, blinded by tears and sweat and a small trickle of blood from a cut on her forehead. She could see that the building was out in the country now, surrounded by trees, and she made for the forest, her best hope for cover, pelting hard toward it with only the most basic urge to live keeping her going forward, even as the sobs wracked her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Without warning, the building behind her exploded, the force of it throwing her forward and onto the ground, hard.

She lay there for a moment, dazed, blinking smoke and dust from her eyes, body still reeling from the impact. Somehow, she managed to drag herself upright, squinted through the haze at the burning building. It was engulfed in flames, flickering up through the roof and licking against the short grass on the ground. If anyone was inside, there was no way they could have survived, and she didn't see anyone in the grounds, either. She couldn't, didn't, care. The only person she could possibly be worried about had already gone. Now this was his funeral pyre.

The though hit her harder than the blast, and she started running again, running from the smoke and fire and death, into the trees, branches snagging her clothes, scraping her skin, but she ploughed on, blind and numb, body on autopilot, mind shut down except for the little corner directing her legs to move. At some point, she stumbled across a road-more of a country lane, really-and followed it, as there wasn't much else she could do. Eventually it brought her to an emergency phone box, and she stepped inside. Some part of her managed to lift the receiver, dial the number, tell the operator on the other side to scramble the line, identify herself. The receptionist traced the call and gave her location, as Purdey still didn't know herself where she was. Purdey gave the location of the burning building in relation to her coordinates. And then, when it was over, and the operator had promised to send help, she rang off, stepped out of the box, let the emotional wave take her, and howled like a wounded thing. She screamed and cried and ranted and sobbed and slammed the phone box with her hands, beat it with her fists, screamed at the sky and kicked at the dust and let all the grief and regret, the anger, the pain, flow out, raw and real and pure, until her voice was hoarse, her body sagged, and her mouth went dry from all the tears she'd cried, and she was suddenly so exhausted it was all she could do to slump on the stone wall near the phone box, and lapse into a daze as all the life drained out of her. Minutes passed. Or seconds. Or hours. Days. She didn't know or care which. And then Steed was there, and reality took her back into its hellish grasp.


	8. Ghosts & The Cell

Purdey eased open the door to her flat, withdrawing the key from the lock as she did so, and stepped inside with trepidation. It was hard to believe she'd been here only a week ago—it seemed like so much longer. The flat felt dead inside after spending the last seven days uninhabited. She shivered and hugged herself, despite the fact that it wasn't particularly chilly for a fall day, and surveyed her surroundings.

She saw ghosts everywhere. It was her flat, but it was Gambit she was reminded of, places he used to sit and stand when he'd come here. There was the couch where he'd lent over the Scrabble board as they played, or a pile of files on a long night searching for leads. Her barre, where he'd sometimes stand beside her while they talked and she did her exercises. The kitchen table, where she'd made him the odd sandwich when he really made a pest of himself, and there wasn't enough time to take her to lunch. The bed where he'd cradled her when he thought she'd died of curare poisoning. Purdey shut her eyes tight against the images, but they persisted behind her eyelids.

She needed to keep busy. That was it. That was the way to keep the memories at bay. So she set about tidying her neglected flat, dusting surfaces, straightening furniture, rewashing dishes that had been left on the drying rack and never put away, because other things had seemed more important at the time.

It should have been a distraction. It should have worked. But everything she did seemed to throw up reminders of Gambit. Dusting the shelf by the piano, she discovered some of his records that he'd lent her long ago, and hadn't bothered to ask her to return. In the kitchen cupboard there was a half-used packet of coffee that she mostly had because he drank it, since she wasn't keen on the stuff. There was scotch in her drinks cabinet—his favourite tipple-and when she went to the closet as a last resort to sort through clothes in hopes of finding something to mend, or give away, or anything really, so long as it occupied her hands and her mind, she found his leather jacket, the one he had given her to cover up with on their very first assignment together, what seemed like a million years ago. The one he'd insisted she keep. The one that still smelled like him when she held it to her face.

She crawled onto her bed and collapsed, suddenly exhausted, giving up on the pretence that work or anything else might help distract her. She would find no respite here. There was too much of Gambit about to let her forget about him, even for a moment, and yet too little to let her immerse herself in his memory and try to let the good reminiscences outweigh the bad. Too little to soothe the aching void within her heart and soul.

She was tired, so tired, too tried to cry anymore. She'd get no sleep here, and yet going back to Steed's was not an option. There were too many ghostly memories there, too, and now that she knew that even Steed believed that Gambit was gone, his eyes had that sad tinge that even he couldn't hide. He was in mourning now, too, and she needed to let him mourn without her. Besides, she'd had enough of passively mourning. Now that she'd made the statement about Gambit's death, there was no reason to hold back. She was going to find Smith, if he was still alive, and she was going to make him pay. Him and anyone else he'd been involved with. She'd promised herself that much, at least. And tomorrow she would make good on it, come hell or high water, no matter what Steed or the Ministry or anyone else had to say.

But tonight, tonight she needed one last night to mourn Gambit, one last night to let him surround her and to bask in her grief. Then, tomorrow. Tomorrow she would set about avenging him.

It was a plan. It gave her the strength to get up off the bed, and to make for the door, grabbing her purse on the way. If she was going to make good on it, she needed sleep, and there was only one place she could get that.

VVV

She parked her car across the street from where Gambit's XJS and Range Rover still sat, unattended, waiting for their owner to come back and claim them. She tried not to look at them as she hurried across the pavement toward the block of flats.

It was late, and no one was in the lift or the corridor, which suited her just fine. She let herself into the flat with her spare key, and flipped on the light before she closed the door behind her. She stood for a moment with her back pressed against it, surveying the interior that somehow managed to take her breath away, despite looking the same as it had always done.

Perhaps that was it. The flat was hadn't been disturbed since Gambit had left it a week ago. There hadn't yet been the official go-ahead to tidy up the loose ends of his life, not so long as there was still a chance that he might be found alive. Even his cleaning lady would still be carrying on as normal. Purdey's statement would put an end to that, but it would take a day or two before the Ministry swept in and started packing everything away. It was possibly the last time she'd see it untouched. All the more reason to come here.

She crossed the room and activated the mechanism that deployed the retractable bed. Gambit had briefly experimented with having a regular couch in his living room, and actually sleeping in his flat's allotted bedroom, but it hadn't lasted, and he'd gone back to the tried and true. Purdey suspected his years in the navy had made him slightly uncomfortable with a proper bed. Or maybe he was just being Gambit, which could explain all sorts of things.

The bed slid out, and Purdey walked around to the end and settled herself down upon it, leaning back with her hands braced on the surface, and let her gaze wander idly over the interior of the flat.

There was Gambit's weapons collection, mounted on the wall surrounding a display case in the alcove tucked up a short staircase in the corner. He'd been genuinely proud of it, and Purdey had listened with a mixture of amusement and affection as he chatted about it. It wasn't her subject, and she'd never love it the way he did, but his enthusiasm was so pure and unguarded that she'd ask him about it just to watch his face light up and hear his earnest descriptions of the weapons' myriad and bloody histories.

The alcove also housed his drafting board. Gambit drew, much to most people's surprise, as it wasn't something he advertised, but she'd learned not long after her first visit that he had it for more than decoration. He'd shown her a few things, but for the most part he was very shy about it, and kept it under wraps. She'd planned on badgering him into framing at least one piece of it, but that was never going to happen now…

She let her gaze wander some more, saw him everywhere—behind the bar, mixing drinks; in the kitchen, coffee cup in his hand as he read the paper lying on the counter; by the stereo flipping through his records. In the bed. She looked down at it, remembered waking him up in it, often rudely, by retracting the mechanism. He'd gotten wise to her eventually and learned to block her hand before she got too close. The thought of it made Purdey smile. But in the end, she'd only ever tipped him out of bed, never into it…

That made her sad again, so she lay back on the bed, running her hand idly over the covering. She'd never actually lain on it as a bed, just when it was a couch, but it was more comfortable than she would have imagined. She wondered what it would be like to curl up on it with Gambit by her side, smiling at her as she drifted off to sleep. She knew she'd have to keep on wondering, and she closed her eyes against the tears, and curled up on her side. Gambit wasn't here, but maybe there was enough of him in the flat, enough of his scent in the bed, to let her sleep before tomorrow came, and her mission began.

She jerked awake with a start, and realised that she had, in fact, drifted off. She sat up and passed a hand over her eyes, wondering what had awoken her. The sound of footsteps in the corridor answered her question.

Gambit's flat was at the end of the hall, and the footsteps were too close for it to be any of the other tenants, which meant they were coming here, and with the owner dead, the number of people who could be visiting for legitimate reasons was very small indeed.

She clambered off the bed and crossed the room, swiftly and silently flicking off the light and plunging the flat into darkness. Then she pressed herself against the wall beside the door and held her breath in anticipation, heart pounding in her ears.

She heard the sound of scarping metal in the lock—it sounded like a key, but Purdey knew from experience that it could just as easily be a pick. It twisted and turned, and finally the lock clicked and she heard it withdraw. She readied herself as the doorknob turned slowly, and then the door itself eased open gently, spilling pale light into the flat from the hallway.

A figure stepped inside, but was immediately bathed in darkness, and from her angle behind the door, Purdey couldn't identify who it was. They were breaking into Gambit's flat, and the last thing that she was willing to let happen at this point was for his home to be taken apart by some second-rate burglar. He deserved more than that, and she was going to make that amply clear to the intruder.

She counted to three mentally, and then slammed her shoulder into the door with all the force she could muster. It connected hard with the figure and sent it staggering sideways, the door slamming shut as an afterthought even as Purdey pursued it. The grunt it had emitted had told her her assailant was a man, but it could have been an alien at this point and she wouldn't have cared. All that mattered was taking him down, and making him pay for trying to damage Gambit's legacy, just as she would destroy Smith for taking the man himself.

She took one, two, three steps forward, and aimed a kick as best she could in the dark, judging the height of the man's head, or what looked like his head-the slightly darker blob she could see in the gloom. Her assailant, however, had recovered enough to repel her assault, grabbing her foot before it could connect and twisting it to the side, making her lose her balance and topple against the wall. She turned round and ducked just in time to avoid the blow that connected savagely with the wall above her head, rammed a well-placed elbow home by way of retaliation, and following it with an expert karate chop to the neck when she heard the air whoosh out as her opponent bent double. She was about to execute the coup de grace by bringing both hands, fingers laced, down hard on his bowed head, when he surprised her with a headbutt to her midsection. She gasped as she toppled backward into the wall, feeling hands go to her wrists to restrain her. She struggled, and then, strangely, he seemed to pause, as though unsure of what to do. Purdey took advantage of the moment, twisted free, stepped hard on his instep, and, when he cried out, grabbed his arm and twisted it savagely behind his back, forcing him face-first into the wall with an agonised grunt. "I don't know who you are," she said fiercely, directing her vitriol into his right ear. "But you chose the wrong flat to break into, and the wrong night to do it."

To her surprise, her opponent quit struggling, as though immobilised by her words. Purdey frowned in puzzlement, unsure of how to proceed, wondering if this unexpected course of action was some sort of trick. It was soon followed by something even more unexpected, so much so that she ended up frozen herself. Because the next thing she knew, there was a voice speaking the most impossible words in the world.

"Purdey, is that you?"

Purdey leapt back as though she'd been burned, releasing the man's arm and retreating into the dark, walking backwards blindly in the gloom. At some level, she knew she was putting herself in a hugely vulnerable position, that at any moment she could stumble over something and find herself sprawled on the floor, completely vulnerable to attack, but her brain was unable to find the wherewithal to protect her, to do much of anything except reel with shock. Because she knew the voice, almost as well as she knew her own-pitch, tone, tenor, accent, the lot. It was a voice that would be impossible to duplicate, as far as she was concerned, and yet she'd heard it, clear as day. It was impossible. And yet, she'd heard it.

At the opposite end of the room, which she was getting as far away from as possible, she could hear the rustle of clothing and the footfalls of someone feeling his way through the dark for a lightswitch. He did it with remarkable ease, locating the switch near the door and flicking it on, seemingly unconcerned about giving up his position. The second he did, the room was flooded with blindingly bright light, but in spite of it all, she still managed to see the figure before her.

Lips. Nose. Eyes. Jaw. Hair. Build. They were all familiar. If she'd seen any one of them, or even a handful, on another man, she would have put it down as a trick of light, angle, or genetics. But there was no way they could all be gathered together in one body a second time. And so, despite what her brain knew, and despite what her eyes had seen, they both suddenly decided to do an about-face, and confirmed what the voice had already told her. The man standing before her was none other than Mike Gambit. Tired, dirty, dishevelled, but all Gambit. Gambit's lips, Gambit's eyes, Gambit's smile, the one that lit up his features, as he saw her just as clearly as she saw him.

"Oh, Purdey, it is you, thank heavens. You're a sight for sore eyes," he exclaimed in relief, slumping back against the wall slightly as though their minor tussle had taken more strength than he could spare. He looked like he was about to say something else, but before he could he noticed her saucer-sized eyes, gaping mouth, and chalk-white skin as all the blood drained from her face. He pushed off the wall again, undoubtedly-Gambit's eyebrows knitted in concern. "What's wrong?" he wanted to know.

"Impossible. It's impossible," Purdey murmured, feeling the words run an unending loop in her brain. "It can't be. It can't."

Gambit was clearly confused, unable to comprehend her reaction. "Purdey, what is it?" he wanted to know. He cast a quick glance around the flat, searching for something, anything to explain her distress, and finding nothing. "What's wrong?" he persisted, turning worried eyes back to her. Those eyes. His eyes

"It can't be." Purdey was still retreating, and managed to stumble into a side table before her back slammed into the reassuring solidness of the wall. She screwed her eyes shut against the pain and the impossibility of it all. "I'm seeing things, that must be it," she tried, saying it more to herself than to him. "It's the strain of it all. It's finally broken me. I've gone mad. I'm hallucinating."

"Hallucinating?" Gambit repeated, as incredulous as he was frustrated. "Purdey, you're not making sense. What on earth are you talking about?"

"You!" Purdey's eyes flew open with her scream, and Gambit couldn't help but jump back in alarm. "It's you. You can't be real!"

"Real? Of course I'm real," Gambit replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you're dead!" The tears were flowing again, just a few, spilling out of her eyes without her consent, and she felt humiliated, even if it was only an imaginary Gambit that was witnessing her breakdown. She scrubbed the tears away angrily. "You're dead. I saw you killed. I know I did, and I know you can't be real. That's how I know I've gone mad."

Gambit, to his credit, was suitably shocked by this revelation. For a moment he just stood there, frozen to the spot, regarding her uncomprehendingly. "Dead?" he repeated, the word hoarse and passing between lips just this side of numb.

Purdey nodded in confirmation, despite the fact that she knew that nodding at hallucinations was ridiculous. "One week ago," she told him, because it stood to reason that even an imaginary Gambit deserved to know how he went. "They shot you, and I saw them do it."

Gambit seemed to snap out of his trance. "Right. Yes. Of course you did." He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and tried his best to shake the revelation off. "All right, Purdey, I'm just going to come over there..." She shrank back against the wall in fear, and he held up soothing hands. "Okay, maybe not. Just listen. Please. Can you do that for me?"

Purdey nodded. "Good," he said, with a reassuring smile. "The way I see it, you've got a problem. You've seen me die, but you also see me standing here. Logically, only one of those scenarios can be true, so if you can prove one, you disprove the other. And the easiest way to do that just now is to figure out whether I'm real or not." He reached out his right hand, extended it toward her slowly, carefully. "When you're ready, Purdey-girl, walk over here and take my hand. That's all. Just take my hand, and if you can feel it, if it feels real, then you'll know I'm real, and then you—we-can start trying to sort out how you managed to see me die. But first you've got to prove to yourself that I'm not a figment of your imagination." The reassuring smile was still there, and the hand was warm and inviting. "Take as long as you need. I'm not going to fade away."

For a moment, neither of them moved. Purdey remained against the wall, and Gambit's hand remained outstretched. Then, somehow, Purdey managed to dredge up some hidden reserve of will, no doubt the one that she had called upon when she thought Gambit was an intruder, one that had somehow managed to survive the past week, and was going to see her through this final test, whether it confirmed her madness or Gambit's existence. All the same, she didn't allow herself to hope that Gambit really was alive, didn't allow herself that luxury. The reserve only stretched so far—she could feel it.

Purdey pushed away from the wall, and took one, small, tentative step toward Gambit. His eyes held hers, willing her to come to him, warm and full of promise. Despite her fears, she couldn't let them down. So she took another step, and another, a slow march toward her ultimate destination, and that unwavering hand. It seemed to take a thousand years, and no time at all, for her to cross the flat, and come within striking distance of that hand. And then suddenly she was close enough to touch it, but she didn't, carrying on, a much more important target in her sights. She could see Gambit's puzzlement when she passed his outstretched fingers, taking great care not to touch his arm as she moved along its length, a hand of her own reaching out in search of the truth. He looked down to follow her fingers' journey, and it was only when he deduced that their trajectory was sending them straight for the left side of his chest that he dropped his arm and let her carry on as she needed.

Inches away from his chest, Purdey's hand was visibly shaking, fingertips barely brushing against the fibres of his shirt, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him that was echoed by her. She swallowed hard, mentally braced herself, and then, hoping against hope, she pressed the palm of her hand flat against his chest, just where his heart would be, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

For one horrible moment, she thought she felt nothing, but then she realised her hand was shaking so much, it was nearly impossible to feel anything properly, so she forced herself to be still. And then, there it was. A heartbeat, the most simple and most miraculous sign of life, skipping along beneath her hand. It was probably a bit too fast, no doubt due to Gambit's anxiety regarding how she'd react to this test, but that didn't matter. It was strong, too strong to be a hallucination, and even, and most importantly, _there_. And with that fact in mind, Purdey opened her eyes, looked up into Gambit's careworn features, and felt herself smile for the first time in what felt like years.

"You're alive," she murmured, sliding her hand up his chest, then over his shoulder, into his hair, then down over his forehead, to press against his cheek. "You're alive, you're alive!" Each time she repeated it, the phrase got louder, more exuberant, and Gambit mirrored her smile with one of his own. "Mike Gambit, you're alive!"

Gambit inclined his head in acknowledgement of this fact, and said, quite simply, "Hello, Purdey-girl."

"Oh!" There wasn't nothing more for it, and she threw caution to the winds and her arms around his neck, hugged him tight. After a moment, she felt Gambit's arms carefully wrap around her, as though he were afraid she would crumble in his grasp, or that she'd startle away from his touch. But she didn't. Because this was Gambit, undeniably Gambit. Not a hallucination, or a trick of the light, or a double. The shoulder she rested her head against fit her the way his shoulder always did, and the smell of sweat beneath the dirt on the soiled shirt matched the most basic essence of the man she knew so well. "You're alive," she repeated one last time, voice soft with relief this time. "All this time, and you're alive." As these words left her mouth, another thought occurred to her, and suddenly she felt herself frown against the shoulder. She pulled back, met the blue-green eyes once more, which were now reflecting a cheerful relief. "You're alive," Purdey said, in a much different tone, "which is very convenient, because now I can kill you!" She seized the lapels of his jacket and, much to his surprise, slammed him back against the wall with not inconsiderable force.

"Gah!" Gambit exclaimed, regarding her with confusion once more. "Purdey, what the-?"

"I thought you were dead!" Purdey cut in angrily, fists still gripping bunches of his jacket. "Dead! I saw them shoot you. I saw you die. I thought I'd let you down. I thought you died because of me. And you let me think it, for an entire week. A week, Mike Gambit! Do you have any idea what you've put me through? Put Steed through?"

Gambit held up his hands, as though hoping to defend himself physically against her verbal onslaught. "I'm sorry, Purdey. I know you must have gone through hell and back."

"Don't flatter yourself!" Purdey snapped back, but there were more tears in her eyes. "The world doesn't revolve around you, Mike Gambit, and it carried on without you. You just made it harder, that's all." She choked back a sob, and wiped away a tear angrily, as though she was mad at her own emotions for betraying her the way she felt Gambit had. "With all the searches, and forensics, and identifying the remains. It made it so much harder." Her grip was loosening on his lapels, but she was still fixing him with that fiery gaze. "I went into the Ministry today. I gave them a statement, so that they could declare you legally dead. So they could tell your family, and have a memorial, and we could lay you to rest, finally. Because I didn't want you to linger on in limbo forever. Missing in action. No closure. Everyone deserves closure, don't they?" She hiccupped, but she was on a roll now, ploughing through no matter how many tears flowed. "I did it for you, and yet here you are, alive, and I...I." She bit her lip. "It wasn't fair, Mike. It wasn't fair to anyone. Definitely not to me."

"I know," Gambit soothed, covering both of the hands holding the lapels with his, and drawing them gently away and toward the middle of his chest. The fingers released the fabric numbly, and folded automatically within his own. "And I'm sorry, Purdey. Really I am. You know I'd never do something like this, not to you. Not to anyone. But in my defence, I didn't really have much choice in the matter."

Purdey looked down at her hands in his, and for the first time saw his wrists peeking out from beneath his shirtsleeves. They were scraped raw all around the circumference, as though they'd chaffed against some sort of restraint. For the first time, Purdey turned her mind toward Gambit's whereabouts this past week. She looked up at him with alarm. "What happened?" she inquired, feeling concern bubble to the surface.

Gambit must have followed her gaze, because he smiled ruefully. "Come on, Purdey. Sit down, I'll get you a drink, and then I'll try to explain."

VVV

Gambit made sure the door was locked, then retraced his steps to where he'd left Purdey, huddled near the wall, and still a bit pale from shock. He gently took her elbow and steered her over to the bed, pushing gingerly down on her shoulder until she was seated on the edge. Even with such limited contact, he could feel she was shaking, probably with a mixture relief and shock. "Just relax," he told her, and she looked up at him, nodded, then looked back down at her feet, as though the sight of him was just a touch too overwhelming all of the sudden.

He went to the bar, and poured her a Scotch, which was really more his tipple than hers, but he knew she needed something potent and fast-acting, and in his experience, Scotch had always done the trick. He didn't want to leave her for long, even if though they were in the same room, as her mindset was far from tranquil, and he really couldn't blame her. She'd been mourning a dead man for a week now, and yet here he was, fixing her drinks in his flat. It would do anyone's head in.

He returned to her with quick strides, crouched down in front of where she was sitting, and offered her the glass. She took it automatically, downed it in a single gulp, quick enough to make her eyes water, but it put some colour back in her cheeks, and her trembling became less noticeable, even if it didn't disappear entirely. She met his eyes again, and her gaze was steady this time. "You're not having any?" she inquired.

He shook his head ruefully, allowing himself a small smile. "I haven't had a drink in a week. I can't afford to be tipsy if someone's following me. I've already been got once." He tapped his face and winked at her, but Purdey sobered up when she caught sight of the red mark on his cheek where she'd slammed his face into the wall not ten minutes earlier.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "I thought you were, well, not you." She reached out and touched the injury gently. "It might bruise," she said with a sigh.

"That's all right. I'm good with bruises. Lots of practice." He caught her hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling to let her know it was all right. "It's good to know someone was defending the homestead. Why were you here, anyway?"

She shrugged. "It's stupid, I suppose. I thought I'd feel close to you, and it would be a good place to say good-bye." She ducked her head and tried not to blush.

Gambit's smile was kind. "That's not stupid," he opined. "That's one of the nicest things you've ever said to me."

"Is it really? Then it was definitely a stupid thing to say. I'll never deflate your ego now."

"I'm sure you'll find a way," Gambit said wryly, taking the empty glass from her and straightening up. "Refill?"

"No!" she said suddenly, eyes wide with alarm, catching his arm. "Please," she said softly, when she saw his concern. "Don't go. I—" The words petered out, and her mouth moved inaudibly. "I'm still getting used to you being alive. I'm worried that if you leave…" She shrugged helplessly.

Gambit covered her hand on his arm with his. "It's all right," he soothed, settling onto the bed beside her and setting the glass on the floor. "It's fine. I'm not going anywhere."

She blushed again. "I'm sorry," she said, but she didn't pull away. "I keep thinking you'll turn out to be a ghost at any moment. I saw you shot."

Gambit shook his head. "But I wasn't."

"Then where have you been?" Purdey exclaimed in frustration.

Gambit sighed. "I can't tell you as much as I'd like, because I just don't know. The last thing I remember is him pointing the gun, and you shouting. The next I knew, I was waking up somewhere different altogether…"

"You died in the interim." Purdey closed her eyes in a wince, recalling the scene. "Mike, I'm so sorry. I was planning my next move. I didn't think he'd pull the trigger so soon. If I'd known he was going to do it, I would have come back. I wouldn't have let him kill you."

"Purdey." His voice was kind but firm, cutting through her confession. He reached out and touched her cheek, so she'd open her eyes to look at him. He held her gaze, wanting her to know he was serious, that he meant every word he said. "I don't blame you. You didn't do anything wrong."

" _I_ blame me," she whispered, a single tear leaking out of her left eye and trickling down her cheek. Gambit used his thumb to wipe it away.

"You shouldn't," he told her. "I know you wouldn't have left me if you had a choice, and I definitely know that you didn't let Smith do anything. He never gave you a chance. He pulled the trigger before you could have feasibly given yourself up."

"What?" Purdey frowned through her tears, and Gambit dropped his hand, now that she was looking at him of her own volition.

"Smith wanted me, or at least one of us, in captivity. He was never going to kill me and risk losing you. I remember thinking when I saw him squeezing the trigger that he was jumping the gun a bit, no pun intended. He didn't give you enough time."

"How can you be sure?" Purdey wanted to know.

Gambit spread his arms. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Are you?" Purdey still sounded unsure of her ground. Unsure of whether he was real.

"Yes," he said with feeling. "And I know it because the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a cell with a splitting headache. That was a tranquilizer gun Smith had. He didn't say as much, but it had to have been. And he got me right between the eyes." He pointed at his forehead. "See?"

Purdey leaned in and squinted. For the first time, she saw the slight red mark on his forehead, almost completely healed now, and difficult to spot if you weren't looking for it. "But I saw the bullet go in," she hissed, meeting his eyes intently. "I saw it go in here—" She poked the red mark with her index finger. "—and I saw it come out the back. Along with rather a lot of the contents of your skull." She went suddenly green at the memory, and Gambit only just managed to catch her round the waist to keep her from falling off the bed as she doubled over retching.

"Easy. Take it easy," he soothed, rubbing her back as she dry heaved, her stomach contents woefully understocked. "Don't spare the carpet. It needs to be cleaned anyway."

Purdey sat up after a moment, gasping, and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she croaked.

Gambit's mouth quirked up on one side. "If you'd seen how many times I'd been sick all over the floor, you wouldn't be saying that."

"I have seen you," Purdey reminded, voice still scratchy. "Three times. It's very disappointing. You're not a very good drunken sailor."

Gambit pulled a face. "Thanks for the reminder," he said wryly. "But I think you'd better steer clear of any more alcohol on an empty stomach for now."

Purdey nodded, licked dry lips. "Keep going," she managed, cycling back to the same old line of inquiry. "I know I saw you shot, so how can you be here?"

"I don't know," Gambit admitted. "But I can tell you what happened after…"

VVV

Gambit came around slowly, fuzzy eyes unfocussed. When he cracked them open, he saw only white. Eventually his blurred vision skimmed over something with a bit more colour, and he used that as his focus point while he waited for the effects of whatever he'd been pumped with to wear off. When it did, the result was less-than-pleasing. The colourful blob resolved itself into Smith's smiling face.

"Hello, Mr. Gambit," he greeted. "Back with us, I see?"

Gambit grunted and shifted in what he realised was a metal chair. When he moved his hands, he heard the clink of a chain that signalled he was wearing handcuffs, and could feel the bracelets encircling his wrists. He didn't need to look down to know the chair itself was bolted to the floor.

"Where's Purdey?" The question came automatically, as soon as the last memories before he'd blacked out came flooding back into his drugged brain. The last moments before Smith pulled the trigger. Smith shrugged with practised ease. "I haven't the foggiest idea."

"Don't play games!" Gambit snapped dangerously, jerking as far forward as his restraints would allow, metal biting into his wrists. "If you've hurt her, I swear…"

Smith waved him quiet with a flick of his hand. "No need to be so melodramatic, Mr. Gambit. Your colleague isn't here. She escaped, not long after we rendered you unconscious. I expect she's long gone by now."

Gambit narrowed his eyes, "Why should I believe you?"

"Why shouldn't you?" Smith countered. "What could I possibly hope to gain by lying to you? Look at it from my position. If you know we don't have her, we can't use her as leverage against you, which is, quite rightly, what we'd do if we did."

"Maybe you're using me as leverage against her," Gambit shot back. "Maybe you want me to think she's not here so I won't talk her out of answering your questions."

"Ah, but I don't have any questions," Smith said with a sly little smile. "Not one. Not even a small one. I don't give a damn what you have to say, Gambit, and I can promise you I don't plan on torturing you for information."

Gambit arched an eyebrow. "You've changed your tune. You were threatening to take us both apart if we didn't talk last I remember."

Smith shrugged, but his expression was one of a man enjoying a private joke. "A man can change his mind, Mr. Gambit."

"In that case," Gambit said, leaning back in his seat and ignoring Smith's smug expression, "I'd like to check out. I've had all the therapy I can take."

Smith held up a finger. "Ah, there's the rub, I'm afraid. I don't want information from you, but I must insist that you stay here, locked up and safe and secure. I'm afraid I simply can't have you out and running about. That won't do at all. Besides, there are some people I need you to meet."

Gambit smiled grimly. "Of course there are."

"It's not what you think, I promise," Smith said with a certain measure of glee. "They may ask you questions, but they'll be very simple ones. They may have to take some samples as well. Hair, blood, that sort of thing. But much less painful than having to do endure the things you're trained for, I'm sure."

Gambit shook his head. "If you think I'm going to sit here and let you use me for a science experiment, you should turn in all those degrees of yours and ask for a refund. Clearly they didn't take."

Smith face grew cold. He nodded, and one of the heavies from before, the ones Purdey had dispatched just before he'd blacked out, appeared from behind him. Without warning, he swung a meaty fist and punched Gambit across the jaw. Gambit did his best to roll with the punch, but was limited by his restraint in the chair. His head snapped back and he tasted blood, spat it on the clean white floor. Smith regarded it with mild distaste.

"Not quite so hard next time," he chastised the heavy. "We need him relatively intact for our visitors." He turned back to Gambit. "But not so intact that I won't stoop to violence if necessary. Clear?"

Gambit's gaze, when he met Smith's, was level. "Crystal."

VVV

"And did they?" Purdey's gaze was intense.

Gambit regarded her impassively. "Did they what?"

"Stoop to violence," Purdey wanted to know, and Gambit could tell she was subtly checking him for injuries. He shook his head.

"Not really. They roughed me up the first couple of times I tried to escape, but they couldn't really do much, not with Smith's standing orders to keep me in good enough nick for the company that kept dropping by."

Purdey's eyes widened. "Then they did take samples?"

Gambit rolled up one of his sleeves to reveal a clutch of needlemarks in the crook of his elbow. "A few."

"Gambit!" Purdey grabbed his arm in alarm and examined it, traced the line of small holes in the skin. "There must be a dozen at least."

"Fourteen, actually," he corrected, and Purdey looked up in incomprehension.

"Why?"

He shook his head again. "I honestly don't know. They wouldn't tell me. They were very careful about not saying anything incriminating in front of me. But they poked, and prodded, and took samples, and checked my file to make sure all the scars and sunspots and flecks in my eyes were where they should be. They were from all sorts of countries, too. Lots of different representatives."

"But they never asked you for information?" Purdey repeated, still incredulous.

"Not once," Gambit confirmed. "They seemed to want to be really sure I was Mike Gambit, but they didn't give a damn what I knew."

Purdey was as bewildered as he was. "All right," she said after a moment lost in thought. "Let's put that aside for now. If they kept such a close eye on you, how did you escape?"

Gambit smiled uneasily. "Ah, well, that's a funny story. You see, I ran into an old friend."


	9. The Countess & The Clinch

"He's at your disposal," Smith was saying, as the statuesque blonde gazed with ice-blue eyes into Gambit's cell through the tiny observation window. "You can take as many samples as you like, run any number of tests, examine every inch of him. We can give you equipment for the task, or you may provide your own. You can check everything against your files, without any limits. All that we ask is that you leave him intact for the next round of prospective bidders."

The blonde turned away from the window, and dismissively waved away the file held out to her by one of two burly bodyguards with the slightest of gestures. "I do not need tests or files to tell me if he is Mike Gambit," she said to Smith, speaking in heavily-accented English.

Smith looked mildly bemused at the statement. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he replied. "If you don't intend to run tests, then what did you hope to gain by coming here? Surely you didn't make the trip just to look at him through a window."

" _Nyet_." The blonde shook her head. "I want to talk to him."

Smith brightened up. "Oh, yes, I forgot to mention interrogation was permitted, so long as he's not damaged."

"I did not say interrogate. I said talk," the blonde countered firmly. "Everything physical can be faked—the face, the blood, the scars. But I will know Mike Gambit when I speak to him. That is how I will confirm his identity."

Smith frowned. "That's really most irregular," he murmured. "Do your superiors approve?"

The blonde's glare could have struck a man down where he stood. "My superiors sent me to confirm his identity. How I do it is my decision, and this is how I choose to do it. If you do not agree, I can contact my superiors and tell them you are being uncooperative."

"That won't be necessary," Smith said hurriedly. "Of course you can talk to him. It's unexpected, that's all. Unexpected." He fixed her with serious eyes. "But you do realise that we will have to monitor the conversation?"

The blonde nodded once, curtly. "I have a tight schedule," she said coldly.

"Of course." Smith nodded through a window set opposite Gambit's cell, indicated to the people behind the glass to open the door by use of the control panel before them. "Your, ah, bodyguards will have to remain outside," Smith added, as the door unlocked with a resonant _click_.

For the first time, the blonde smiled. "They are not bodyguards," she told Smith ironically. "They are cultural attaches." With that, she turned the knob on Gambit's cell door.

VVVVVV

Gambit, for his part, was staring fixedly at the floor, determined not to look up even as he heard the door unlock and open. He knew he didn't have much in the way of options by this point, and there was no way he could prevent them from drawing more blood or taking another lock of hair, but he was damned if he was going to make it easy for them. He'd already resolved that he wasn't going to say anything, no matter what they did to him. He'd come to the conclusion that, for whatever reason, it was important to Smith that he to remain intact, so they could only hurt him in so many ways, and he was well-acquainted enough with pain that he thought he could avoid crying out, no matter what they threw at him. He clenched his jaw. After a week of this, he was feeling positively stubborn.

But he wasn't expecting the voice that greeted his ears to be so familiar. "Mike Gambit. Always in the middle of trouble, yes?"

Gambit's head snapped up in surprise, and he couldn't stop his lips from stretching into a grin. "Countess," he identified, and she returned his smile. She tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, and dragged a chair away from the wall to face his. "Or should I call you—"

"Ah!" The woman code-named The Russian Countess quickly put a finger to his lips to silence him. "That was for your ears only, Mike. Secret conversations. What you call 'pillow talk'."

Gambit slanted an amused eyebrow at her as she removed her finger. "We didn't really have any other kind," he pointed out, "so that puts a lot of things off-limits."

The Countess leaned back in her chair, an almost-wistful smile on her lips. "I am sure you will think of something."

"Well, there are a couple of things that come to mind," Gambit allowed, flexing his hands experimentally. The handcuffs clinked in reply. "They're listening, of course."

"Of course," the Countess confirmed.

Gambit had a funny feeling he had all the answers he was going to get, but there was no harm in trying. "And you can't tell me what's going on?"

" _Nyet_." The Countess gestured lazily at the door. "They are very strict. If I tell you, there will be consequences."

Gambit regarded her knowingly. "Nothing you couldn't handle."

The Countess' smile was smug. "Perhaps. But my superiors would not like it."

"That's never stopped you before," Gambit pointed out. "Or were they sanctioning everything you did with me?"

"Not everything," she replied coyly. "But I did not put all of it in the report. I kept some secrets for you, yes?"

"Not very well," Gambit said wryly. "Because my department has all the gory details."

The Countess tsked. "Men. You want to talk about it. You leave nothing to imagination."

"I don't know how it got out," Gambit said innocently.

The Countess regarded him sceptically. "I suspect a leak. I think I know the source."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Gambit shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying in vain to get himself into a better position. "I, uh, don't suppose you could get me out of here somehow?"

"Oh, Mike," the Countess lamented, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "If I could, I would take you with me, and we would do things that you would never leak. I do not want to leave you here." She sighed dramatically, and ran a hand through her long blonde hair. "But I am under orders, and I cannot. But I can do this."

Without warning, she pressed her hands to either side of his face, and leaned in to kiss him, hard and demanding. Gambit kissed back, knowing very well this could be last time anyone did anything like this to him ever again, and there were definitely worse candidates for that particular honour than the Countess, who was holding up pretty well to his memories. He felt her shift position, hands plunging into his hair as one of her knees planted itself firmly on his chair between his legs. Beyond the walls, Gambit thought he could hear, with some satisfaction, Smith's flabbergasted voice ask, "What is she _doing_?"

Gambit somehow doubted that Smith had foreseen this particular test, but it wasn't as if the Countess was breaking the rules. She certainly wasn't hurting him, not by any stretch of the imagination! And besides, in Gambit's experience, the Countess tended to do what she wanted, and it was a brave man indeed who stood in her way. Gambit had a feeling Smith wasn't feeling brave enough to test her.

The Countess' hands were moving again, trailing luxuriously from his hair onto his neck, then sliding over his shoulders and tantalisingly down his arms. She reached his hands, wound hers around his own, restrained, ones. To his surprise, he felt her palm press something cold and metallic against his. A hairpin, he realised. One she'd likely dislodged when running her hands through her hair. She couldn't free him herself, but she could give him a chance. Gambit quickly closed his hand around it, kissing back a little harder to let her know he understood, and to thank her. She wasn't all bad, not really. If they weren't on opposite sides of the curtain, they probably would have seen more of each other. And the Countess tended to play by her own rules. He knew that her fondness for him was being bolstered by her dislike of Smith and his restrictions. Regardless of her motivations, it was more than he'd had half an hour ago.

She broke away finally, reluctantly, eyes infinitely warmer when meeting his than they had been when she looked at Smith. She stroked his hair affectionately. "I am sorry," she said. To Smith, it would sound like she was apologising for not being able to get him out, but he knew she meant that she was sorry she couldn't do more.

"I understand," he replied, and his eyes told her he truly did. She nodded curtly, and stood. "Take care of yourself, Mike Gambit," she requested. "And if you are ever freed, and I am in London, make contact, yes?"

Gambit winked at her. "I'll see what I can do."

She smiled one last time, and then she was beyond the cell door, and he heard the lock slide back into place. He clutched the hairpin like the lifeline it was.

VVVVVV

Purdey was regarding him with a mixture of disdain and annoyance. "A hairpin?" she repeated incredulously. "That corny old one?"

"Don't knock it. It worked." Gambit pulled the pin from his pocket, tossed it lightly in the air, and caught it again. He hadn't expected Purdey to be pleased to hear about the Countess, even if she was instrumental in effecting his escape. He was rather pleased that it bothered her enough that she couldn't even manage to hide it.

"And how did it work, exactly?" Purdey wanted to know, arms crossed expectantly.

"Well, I picked the cuffs—"

"Yes, I'd worked that much out for myself."

"Then I waited for one of my walkabouts." He saw Purdey's bemused expression and grinned self-consciously. "To the loo. I'll spare you the gory details."

"Thank goodness."

"The way the set-up worked was that they'd send in one goon to get me. He'd uncuff one hand so I could stand up from the chair, and then recuff my hands behind my back. They had a camera inside, and they'd only let me out if I was secure. If everything looked okay on the CCTV, the bloke at the controls would let us out of the cell. Then we'd be joined by another heavy outside the cell and the two of them would walk me down. Now by this point, I'd done this enough times to get a sense of how the routine worked, and I noticed that they uncuffed the same hand every time, so…" He trailed off, leaving Purdey to fill in the blanks.

She thought for a moment. "So you picked the cuff on the other hand, then recuffed it loosely." She inclined her head in acknowledgement. "All right. I'm slightly impressed."

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "Only slightly?"

"I'm not going to shower you with superlatives. Imagine your ego if I did."

"That's a tall order when I don't have a precedent to work off of," Gambit said wryly, and Purdey wrinkled her nose at him. "But anyway, back to my story."

"Ah, yes. Your daring escape. It was daring?"

"Daring enough."

"Oh, good. I thought I was going to be disappointed."

Gambit grinned, and she grinned back, some colour finally back in her cheeks. "I waited until we were far enough down the hall to be out of sight, then I took on the guards. I had my hands free, but the tough part was taking them down before they got their guns out. I managed that, but then I needed their guns to lay down cover fire when the alarm went off and the reinforcements started coming. I ended up going out of a window. Luckily it was only the second floor."

Purdey could see the scratches on his hands now, similar to the one's she'd had after going out a window a week ago. Just after she thought he'd died. She shook the memories away. "Where were you being held?"

"A place out in the country. I've got rough bearings, but it might take me awhile to find it again. I concentrated on running for it until I lost them. After that I started hiking back. Eventually I got close enough to civilisation to nick a car to take to London. I've only just made it back now." He held out his hands, palms up, to signify completion. "Like I said, I don't think I was followed, but I don't know for sure. I ditched the car awhile back and walked the rest of the way, but you can only zigzag so much."

Purdey shook her head in disbelief. "You were out there, all this time," she murmured. "And I thought you were dead."

Gambit sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It wasn't exactly what I was expecting to hear when I got back, either, but life's funny that way." He paused, grinned. "Or death is." Purdey rolled her eyes expansively at the pun. "Seriously, though. What happened to you? Smith said you got away."

"I did," Purdey confirmed. "After they…after they shot you." She shuddered. "—they started shooting at me, and I ran for it." She held his gaze. "I thought you were dead. Otherwise I never would have left you there."

"I know," Gambit assured, smiling kindly. "I know. Just tell me what happened."

Purdey took a deep breath and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "They blew up the warehouse, or lab, or whatever it was. At that point, I thought you were dead, so I hardly cared. I was so busy making a run for it that I didn't wait to see if Smith would reappear. I contacted Steed, and naturally the clean-up crew did their best, but there was very little left to salvage. It took Kendrick days to decide that the remains they found inside were yours."

Gambit looked up in surprise. "What? They found a body?"

She nodded. "It looked like you, too. Or what was left, anyway. The dental records matched, and he found what looked like your St. Christopher. That was what finally convinced Steed that you were gone. He didn't really believe it before then."

Gambit shook his head in disbelief. "Smith really wanted you to think I was dead."

"Yes. It worked, too," Purdey agreed. "I went and made my statement today and had you declared dead, just the way I was meant to."

A line appeared between Gambit's eyes as a thought occurred to him, and he suddenly looked alarmed. "Wait, does that mean my aunt…does she think…?"

"No," Purdey cut in quickly. "No, it hasn't gotten that far. Only the Ministry. I was going to tell your family myself. I thought they deserved more than an anonymous Ministry man handing them an envelope."

Gambit looked relieved, then thoughtful. "So," he said slowly, "if you haven't been planning my memorial, but you thought I was dead, what have you been doing all this time?"

Purdey blushed slightly. "Very little, I'm afraid. Steed took me back to the stud farm after Kendrick examined me, and effectively put me under house arrest. I've been off-duty all week, and Steed hung about to keep an eye on me. He didn't believe you were gone, so he sent people out to look for you and Smith, but he didn't go himself, and he wouldn't let me go. He had this ridiculous idea that I'd do something silly and get myself killed because I was so distraught."

Gambit arched an eyebrow. "And would you have?"

"Of course not," Purdey scoffed. "I would have found Smith and made him pay and it wouldn't have been silly at all." She said it with a straight face and steel in her voice, and Gambit knew she meant every word. "But you know how Steed is. He anticipated my every move, and he kept me there, at least until Kendrick rang." She grinned wryly. "It seems his first instinct was correct, as usual."

"There'd be something wrong if it wasn't," Gambit agreed with a smile. "But he released you in the end?"

"I released myself," Purdey said frankly. "I made my statement, and tomorrow I was going to start looking for Smith. I suppose I'll still end up doing that, but this time I'll have you with me, rather than sitting in a box addressed to your family."

"That's definitely better in my book," Gambit said with a wink, and took Purdey's hand, gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry I put you through all of this, Purdey-girl, even if I didn't know it was happening. I would never—you know I wouldn't do something like that to you if I could help it."

"And you're not angry with me?" Purdey said, remembering their last proper conversation. She elaborated when she saw Gambit's puzzled features. "The argument in the car. I know what you said in the warehouse, when I fought off the goons, but I still wondered if you died hating me."

His smile was kind. "Oh, Purdey, Purdey, you must know by now that I could never hate you. I think I'm literally incapable of it."

Without warning, Purdey leaned in and kissed him, soft lips pressing against his. Gambit, who had been ambushed like this once before, the night before the morning of the S-95 debacle, felt his eyebrows rise in surprise, own lips parting slightly in something that wasn't quite a return of the kiss, but was more of a reaction than he'd had time for on that occasion. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't entirely certain what move to make with so much up in the air, and his response was tentative and somewhat automatic. He felt as though he was a detached observer, knowing what his body wanted to do, but too caught up in what was going on in his mind.

Purdey broke away, but only just, mouth lingering a tantalising fraction of an inch from his, eyes shining.

"What was that for?" he murmured, not unkindly.

She was breathing heavily and her eyes had the glassy quality that accompanied unshed tears. "I thought you were dead," she explained.

"Yeah, we've established that," Gambit quipped, trying to keep his voice steady. A faint smile played over his lips of its own accord, but it faded quickly as he turned serious. "Purdey..."

"There are things I promised myself," Purdey cut in quickly, before he could carry on. "Or not promised so much as wished. Things I should have done." Her eyes returned to his mouth, then flicked back up. "I thought I'd lost my chance."

Gambit's breathing hitched, eyes riveted on hers, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Chance for what?" he managed, the words coming out so softly, he was surprised she could hear him.

"This," Purdey said simply, and leaned in to take his mouth again. This time Gambit did kiss back, deepening it. She still tasted of her drink, but her hands were steady as they tangled themselves into his hair. She lay gently back on the couch, taking him with her, her mouth never leaving his. He tried to stay sitting up without breaking contact, but it soon became impossible, and he found himself leaning over her, hands braced above her head on the arm of the couch. He had nowhere to put his lower body except against her, and that was something he wanted to avoid as much as possible given the inevitable biological reactions that were taking place. Purdey seemed to sense his discomfort, and to his surprise, she shifted beneath him. Her legs parted easily, nudging against his hips to invite him to nestle between her thighs. He debated a moment before gravity and his rapidly-diminishing will-power gave out, and he let his body come to rest against hers, pelvis cradled exquisitely at the apex of her legs. Her kisses were becoming deeper and more heated, and there was no question in his mind where this was leading. When one of her hands left his hair to snake down between them and rest deliberately on his belt buckle, it only confirmed it. And Gambit, with the few brain cells that were still functioning correctly, realised that this wasn't something he could do.

With every ounce of willpower he possessed, he tore his mouth from hers, gasping huge lungfuls of sanity-inducing air. He shut his eyes tight, knew if he looked at her now, he might not manage it, that his self-control might waver. But after a few moments he felt the heat of desire ebb away enough that some of the blood returned to his brain.

"Mike?"

He opened his eyes and looked down at her, and oh, she was beautiful, everything he'd ever wanted, all in that moment. Laid out beneath him, hair tousled, eyes bright, lips swollen with desire, cheeks flushed, gorgeous legs trying to wind their way around his waist. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, to take her here and hear her cry his name. But it wasn't right, and in his gut, he knew it.

"I can't," he panted, disentangling himself and sitting up once more. Purdey propped herself up on her elbows, looking confused and annoyed.

"Don't you want to?" she demanded, cheeks flushing from embarrassment rather than passion.

Gambit's laugh was more unstable than he would have liked. "Oh Purdey, Purdey," he whispered, rubbing his hands over his face. "Purdey, I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life."

"Then why...?"

Gambit rubbed his hands vigourously over his face again, welcoming the sobering scratch of the stubble on his palms, desperately trying to give his body something else to react to before he faced her again. "It's not right," he told her. "Or it wouldn't be right."

Purdey scooted up the arm of the couch, so she could sit half-upright and face him. "What do you mean? I was the one who made the first move."

"Right. Because you've spent the past week thinking I'm dead. And all of the sudden I'm not. That's got to do your head in." He shook his head. "You're caught up in the moment, maybe in shock. Who knows what you've been thinking all this time, but with an about-face like this, I have to assume you're not thinking straight."

Purdey's face dissolved into an ugly scowl. "Mike Gambit, if you're insinuating I don't know my own mind..."

"You know it. But you're probably not giving the parts of it that need it the attention they deserve." He tried to smile away her scowl, tried to make her understand. "Please, Purdey. I want you, but not like this. I need to be sure you've looked at all the variables. I don't want you to do something you'll regret tomorrow morning, or next week, just because you thought it might be your last chance. We both have to live with it, and I don't it to be a mistake. We both need to be clear-headed, and that includes me, because I've just spent a week chained to a chair, and that's not done a hell of a lot for my objectivity." He chafed his raw wrists distractedly. "We need to both be sane again. Have a rest, process everything. And once we actually know how we feel, and where we stand, we can pick up where we left off. But until then, I'm the one who's going to put the brakes on. Makes for a change, eh?"

Purdey looked crestfallen. "But I know how I feel," she persisted. "I know that I l—"

"Don't," Gambit said quickly, touching a desperate finger to her lips. "Don't say that. Not here. Not now. Not when you can't take it back." His eyes were pleading. "Please, Purdey. Do us both a favour, because I don't have enough self-discipline tonight to say 'no' twice."

She was silent for a moment, and he could almost see the thoughts tumbling through her mind. Then she nodded, and removed his hand. She sat up properly, straightened her skirt, and swung her legs over the edge of the couch, Gambit doing his level best not to watch her. "When?" she said finally, as she smoothed her hair into place.

Gambit was momentarily confused. "When what?"

"You said that once we've worked through it all, we can try again," Purdey said matter-of-factly, and her expression was remarkably neutral when she turned her eyes on him. "When do you think we'll have settled down sufficiently that you won't accuse me of being half-delusional?"

"I didn't say that..."

"No, but it amounts to the same thing," Purdey said briskly, brushing down her skirt. "Whatever you want to call it, it won't change anything."

"It will for me," Gambit assured, suddenly feeling as guilty about saying 'no' as he would have if he said 'yes'. "I only want to do it properly, Purdey. We deserve that much, don't we?"

There was something in his eyes that finally convinced her, that told her he wasn't calling her mad, but was terrified of doing anything on the off-chance that she was. "Yes," she agreed. "But I need a date, or a time. Something. Because I've been stewing for a week, Mike Gambit, and I can't do that indefinitely."

"No. No, you can't," Gambit agreed, wiping sweaty palms on his trouser legs. "Look, let's get this assignment wrapped up. Figure out what Smith's up to, stop it, file all the paperwork. But the time that lot's finished, maybe we'll both have recovered from me being dead for a week." He pinched the bridge of his nose in disbelief. "This whole thing's done my head in, to be honest."

Purdey realised for the first time how tired he looked, put a hand to his forehead, but found he didn't have a temperature. "And when that's finished?"

"You know where to find me," Gambit told her, taking the hand off his forehead so he could squeeze it in his. "If it's still what you want, I'll be waiting. And I won't say no."

There was something in his eyes that sent a shock straight to her core, and she gently withdrew her hand before her own self-control wavered. "That's settled, then," she coolly. "Now, what are we going to do with you? You're officially dead, remember. Should we resurrect you?"

Gambit thought for a moment. "Smith doesn't know where I am," he said finally. "At least I hope he doesn't. But we should be careful. I don't know if we should broadcast my resurrection just yet." He gently worked his jaw, and Purdey watched him. She'd been convinced she'd never see that facial tic again. "We should go to Steed's," he said finally. "Let him in on the secret, but only him. Then we can make a decision between the three of us."

Purdey nodded in agreement. "Steed should know. And not only because of the assignment. He thinks you're dead, too."

Gambit smirked. "I hope he's not too disappointed."

"Gambit!" Purdey elbowed him gently in the ribs in recrimination. "Should we take my car?"

Gambit shook his head, standing and moving to the window to peek through the drawn curtains. He scanned the street, but saw no one. "I don't think I was followed, but I don't want to chance it." He turned back to Purdey, eyes darting around the space as he thought. "Right, here's what we'll do. I'm going to pack a few things, because I've been in these trousers longer than I really should."

Purdey wrinkled her nose. "I wasn't going to say anything, but they are a bit...fragrant."

Gambit flashed her one of his lightning quick, humourless smiles. "Thanks. Listen, while I'm doing that, you go back to your flat. Pack yourself an overnight bag. Anyone asks, you tell them the truth as much as possible. You came here because you wanted to mourn, but say it only made you sadder. You realised you weren't ready to be alone, so you're going back to stay with Steed."

"All right." Purdey stood and smoothed her skirt. "Where do I meet you?"

Gambit shook his head. "Better you don't know, just to be safe. I'll find my way to you."

Anxiety appeared in Purdey's eyes. "And what happens if you don't?"

"Then you drive to Steed's anyway and tell him what's going on, because I might not be able to. But I don't think that'll happen." He tilted his head to one side, regarded her with a measure of concern. "You okay?"

Purdey bit her lip. "I don't want you to disappear again," she confessed. "If you do, and I never hear from you again, what's to keep me from thinking I didn't imagine it all? What's to keep you from really turning up dead?"

"Nothing," Gambit admitted truthfully. "But they'll have to try pretty damned hard to take me down now, because it looks like I might have a lot to live for." He winked at her, and he could see some of the tension flow out of her shoulders. "Anyway, I've lasted this long, Purdey-girl. If anyone's going to be the death of me, it'll probably be you."

"Possibly," she concurred, a wicked smile lighting up her careworn features. "But wouldn't it be a lovely way to go?"

"You got clairvoyant while I was gone," Gambit quipped. "And speaking of gone, you should make yourself scarce. If there is a watcher, he might be getting suspicious by now."

"Right." She gathered her coat, shrugged it on, moved to the door, then turned back, eyes meeting his in a steady gaze. "I'll see you soon." It was a command.

Gambit's own gaze didn't waver. "You will," he promised.

Purdey nodded once, curtly, then somehow managed to turn, open the door, step out into the corridor¸ and close it again. It seemed so simple, but at that moment, it was the hardest thing she thought she'd ever done. She took a deep breath, composed herself, then set off down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-----  
> Author's Note: Gambit's "encounter" with The Russian Countess was mentioned by Purdey and Gambit in the episode "To Catch a Rat." Purdey claimed it was "common knowledge" around their department.


	10. Tall Tales & True Stories

Purdey drove straight back to her flat, trying all the while to keep her thoughts from streaming across her face for any would-be watcher to see. It was all so much to take in. Gambit, alive! After all this time! And Smith with something so valuable to sell, he was attracting all the most notorious buyers of things that it was never in the country's interest to see sold. But despite the urgency of the assignment, Gambit kept coming to the forefront of her mind. She'd thought of little else the past week, and to have him back was like being hit by a bolt of lightning, but in the best possible way. She felt rejuvenated and elated and shocked and...like crying, but with a huge grin on her face. She refrained from both lest she was being observed, but with effort. She looked at her hands on the steering wheel, and realised they were gripping it hard, knuckles white. Maybe Gambit was right. She wasn't really in the right state of mind to be making any huge, life-changing decisions. And what she'd been thinking about doing with Gambit, if he had still been alive, this past week would definitely change lives. Namely both of theirs.

She parked her car in front of her flat and dashed down the 21 steps, found her keys with difficulty, and unlocked the door with shaking fingers. She somehow managed it and stepped inside, immediately went to the bedroom to start packing her case. She wasn't certain if she should hurry or take her time to give Gambit a chance to catch up with her. By force of will, she paced herself.

Eventually, she knew she could wait no longer without raising suspicion, so she took her bag, squared her shoulders, and made her way out to her car. She put her case in the boot, then rounded the car to the driver's side, and slid inside. No sooner had she shut the door, but she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. There was someone else in the car.

"Don't turn round."

It was Gambit's voice. She tried not to sag with visible relief, because that would have been a definite giveaway to a watcher. "You could have warned me," she chastised, sliding the key into the ignition.

Gambit chuckled. "How? I'm a ghost."

"I thought 'boo' would have been more appropriate, given the circumstances," Purdey quipped, turning the key and starting up the engine.

"I'll remember that for next time," Gambit said wryly, as she pulled out. "Are you going straight to Steed's?"

"Of course." Purdey signalled and glanced in the rear view mirror, but there was no tail. "No one seems to be following."

"I didn't see anyone, either, but keep an eye out anyway."

Purdey turned and started the long drive to Steed's. She frowned as a thought occurred to her. "Are you on the floor?"

"Didn't want to risk the back seat," came the reply. "Easier for someone to see if they walked by. It's a bit cramped down here with my bag, but I'm managing."

"We're moving now. You could stretch out on the seat," Purdey pointed out. "Just keep your head down. There's a blanket back there, somewhere. You could cover yourself with it."

There was some rustling. "Ah."

"Found it?"

"Yes." She heard some more rustling and the creaking of leather as Gambit clambered up onto the seat, taking care to not be seen through the rear window. Eventually things settled down.

"Comfortable?"

"It'd work better if I was half a foot shorter, but I'll live."

"You've somehow managed it so far," Purdey said pointedly.

"Yeah," Gambit agreed. "Thankfully." There was a pause. "Listen, I could use a little kip. You okay if I sleep?"

"Of course," Purdey confirmed. "I'll wake you when we're there."

"Thanks." She glanced in the rearview mirror as he spread the blanket onto himself, covering even his face. It didn't take long before he went still, and she could hear soft, steady breathing emanating from the back seat.

For the rest of the drive, she was mostly able to occupy herself with the drive and watching out for any tails, but occasionally she couldn't help but glance in the mirror, not only to reassure herself that the form under the blanket not only existed, but was gently rising and falling with each breath. She wished he didn't have to cover his face, because even sleeping features would have been a welcome sight over nothing at all. Just seeing him alive was nothing short of a miracle. Covered up, he reminded her too much of a corpse under a shroud.

She waited until they turned onto Steed's driveway before she called his name, but the crunch of gravel beneath tyres had already roused him.

"Are we there already?" he asked around a yawn.

Purdey smirked. "Alread? You've been asleep three-quarters of an hour."

"Funny," Gambit murmured groggily, voice thick with sleep. "Felt like three-quarters of a minute."

"I'm sure you can manage to stay conscious for another hour or so. Then Steed will probably take pity on you when you tip forward onto the coffee table."

"Probably more out of concern for the coffee table," Gambit said knowingly, voice still thick with sleep.

Purdey allowed herself a small chuckle as she pulled up in front of Steed's. She was about to alight from the car, but the senior agent was already at the door, framed in a rectangle of golden light. He hurried to the driver's side window, and she rolled it down.

"Purdey." Steed's face was etched with concern. "Are you all right?"

She desperately wanted to tell him what was going on, but she didn't dare until they were inside, away from listeners, so she did her best to contain it. "No," she told him. "I've decided to come back to stay for a few more days, if that's all right."

"Of course." Steed could tell there was something odd about her, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Her eyes were shining with a strange brightness he hadn't seen before. He reached for the car door to open it, but she stopped him.

"No!" she said hurriedly. "I'd like to park in the garage, if that's all right."

"Purdey, your car will be perfectly fine out here over night. We can attend to it in the morning. I think it's more important we get you inside."

"No," Purdey repeated firmly, eyes boring into his, willing him to understand without telling him the secret. "It's important I park in the garage. Now."

Steed twigged, even if he didn't know what he'd twigged to, but being Steed, he took it without question. "I'll open it for you," he told her, and disappeared back inside.

"Does he know?" Gambit inquired from the back seat.

"He knows something," Purdey confirmed. "It _is_ Steed."

The garage door started to rise, and Purdey took the handbrake off and moved the car smoothly toward the opening. She pulled in beside Steed's Jaguar, switched off the engine, and opened her door. Steed was standing there, watching her carefully. As she alighted from the vehicle, he pressed the button that would close the door once more. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he asked Purdey as she turned to face him.

She put her hands in the pockets of her jacket. "As soon as the door is closed," she promised, nodding at the rapidly-diminishing gap between the door and the ground.

Steed nodded, and watched the crack narrow. Finally, it made contact with the garage's cement floor with a resounding "clang." He looked expectantly back to Purdey. "Are you all right?" he asked again, concern still writ large over his features.

Much to his surprise, Purdey broke into a huge smile. "I'm quite all right," she assured. "Much better than all right, really." She moved to the car's rear door. "I have a surprise," she confided, just before she swung the door open to reveal Gambit, now blanket-free and sitting halfway upright in the back seat. He grinned a grin to match Purdey's as Steed, never one to be caught completely by surprise, allowed his jaw to drop open quite spectacularly.

"Gambit!" he exclaimed, momentarily at a loss to say much of anything else.

"Hello, Steed," Gambit returned cheerfully. "Miss me?"

"At the risk of sounding maudlin, yes," Steed confirmed, shock still evident in his features even as he moved to warmly take Gambit's hand as he disentangled himself from the cramped quarters of Purdey's back seat. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I was under the impression you were dead."

"Yeah, Purdey told me," Gambit replied, straightening up and stretching. "Seems I was the last one to hear the news."

Steed looked to Purdey, who was still grinning like the proverbial idiot, not that Steed was faring much better. "Where on earth did you find him?"

"In his flat, of all places," Purdey said wryly. "I thought he'd choose a suitably spooky graveyard to haunt, but the man has absolutely no imagination." Gambit slanted an amused eyebrow at her, but the only reaction was for her smile to become slightly more secretive.

"Wherever it was, I'm extraordinarily glad you're back." Steed clapped the younger man warmly on the shoulder. "Who else knows about your resurrection?"

"Just you two," Gambit replied.

"Gambit thought we ought to keep a low profile until we could contact you," Purdey chipped in. "We don't think we were followed, but we can't be sure. We had better draw all your curtains before he goes inside."

"Right," Steed agreed. "And then, I think a celebratory drink is called for."

"And some celebratory sandwiches, if you can manage it," Gambit added in. "It's been a long time since I had a proper meal."

"Oh?" Steed looked from Gambit to Purdey with interest.

Purdey nodded at Gambit. "He has quite the story to tell."

Steed instantly became serious. "Then I'd better hear it."

VVV

It didn't take long for Purdey and Steed to draw all the curtains in the house, or to secure the doors, all while keeping a watchful eye open for anyone lurking in the grounds. Then Gambit was ushered out of the garage and into the living area, the promised celebratory drink was consumed, the celebratory sandwiches were made, and Purdey and Gambit settled onto the couch while Steed himself took the armchair. Then Gambit repeated the same story for Steed that he'd told Purdey, though Purdey herself interjected occasionally when he omitted the odd detail, knowing anything could be important. She could tell his energy was flagging by this point, the whole of the past week catching up with him and taking its toll now that he could afford to relax. She could see the lines on his face deepening almost before her eyes, and it was hard to miss the way his elbows, resting on his knees, were gradually taking on more of his weight as he struggled to stay upright and awake. Eventually she found herself adding things in even before he had a chance to forget them, just to take some of the load off, and try to keep him conscious without actively shaking him. But she knew that could only last so long, and she wasn't sure how long she could prolong what was essentially an unofficial debriefing, case or no. But soon Gambit was reaching the end of his tale, and he circled back on what he thought was the most important aspect of his captivity.

"They looked at everything. They measured my height and weight. They checked for contacts and scrubbed down my skin to make sure I wasn't made-up. They drew blood, took hair samples. They argued about the colour of my eyes and the line of my jaw. They took so many fingerprints, they damn near wore the skin right off. They went looking for scars and made dental imprints. After awhile I started to wish they'd just ask questions and hurt me if I didn't answer. At least I'd know where I stood. But that." He shuddered. "It was weird. Invasive. They didn't care what I knew, but they cared who I was, and they all wanted to be damn sure of it. They all wanted their own samples, and they all had copies of my file. From the folders, I could tell they brought their own, from all the intelligence services. They didn't trust anyone's intel but their own."

"And they never said why?" Steed inquired, brows knitted quizzically.

"Not once," Gambit confirmed. "They weren't allowed to talk when they were in with me, just to take their samples, but I could see them through the window, talking and waving clipboards around. But as far as I can tell, all they cared about was the fact that I was Mike Gambit, but not what I knew. I kept waiting to be interrogated, but it never came. It did my head in."

Steed rolled his brandy snifter idly between his fingers in thought. "It's certainly odd," he agreed.

"That's not the only thing that's odd," Purdey cut in, setting her own, empty glass on the coffee table, and twisting in her seat to better face them. "We still haven't explained how Gambit can possibly be alive when I _know_ I saw him killed."

"I would have thought it was obvious," Steed replied. "Some sort of an illusion. You were some distance away at the time. Some people can become very skilled at it."

"Yes, but Gambit remembers it all, right up to when he was shot, and he didn't see any sign of an illusion," Purdey argued. "And anyway, even if it was an illusion, what was the reasoning behind it? Why did they want me to think Gambit was dead? Why didn't they try harder to catch me?"

"So you'd stop looking for me?" Gambit suggested. "And persuade everyone else to do the same? If I'm dead, there's no reason to send out a search party."

"But why did they want you so badly?" Purdey wanted to know.

Gambit's mouth quirked up on one side in a lopsided smile. "I can be very wantable, Purdey-girl."

"You know what I mean," Purdey shot back, trying not to blush. "And I don't care what you say. I know what I saw. And it wasn't a hologram or stage makeup. I was in the ballet. I can see the joins. I saw Gambit shot in the head, and I saw the aftermath." She shut her eyes against the memory, and suddenly went white. "Things I wish I hadn't seen. But I saw them. Vividly."

Gambit and Steed sobered up noticeably. "No one's doubting you, Purdey," Steed said gently, when the blue eyes had opened up again, still looking haunted. "But clearly there's more to this affair than any of us is aware of thus far."

Gambit nodded in agreement. "There's definitely something weird going on, and it goes beyond Sands and his files and marriage counselling." He downed the last of his drink, and set the glass next to Purdey's. "But what I'd like to know is if I'm going to have to keep sneaking around with the curtains drawn."

"That, along with all our other problems, will wait until tomorrow, when we've all had a good night's rest." Steed looked at his two colleagues, taking in their obvious exhaustion. "I think we can all agree that we haven't slept very well this past week. We'll think more clearly once we've had a rest. Gambit, you can have any of the rooms upstairs, save for Purdey's usual accommodations."

VVV

Gambit had only just emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower, and a dressing gown wrapped around his slim frame, when Purdey poked her head out two doors down. He felt her eyes on his back and turned round to slant an amused eyebrow her way. "Trying to sneak a look?" he teased. "Or were you on your way to seduce me? Because we've had that talk, and you're not getting one without the other."

"You and your ego." Purdey closed her door behind her and sauntered down the hall toward him. She was clad in pale pink silk pyjamas, loose in fit, but with a pleasing tendency to skim over her form as she moved. Her feet were clad in ballet flat slippers. She wore no make-up, and her hair was still damp from the shower she'd taken earlier. Gambit thought she'd never looked lovelier. "There are more than two reasons a girl can stick her head out the door, you know."

"How many are there when the other person's just come out of the bathroom?" Gambit asked wryly, moving to his own door and opening it. Purdey followed him inside, and he didn't stop her, but he knew he'd have to be firmer if she was intent on resuming their clinch from earlier that night.

"Perhaps I wanted to make sure you weren't using my conditioner?" she suggested.

"You're safe on that front," Gambit told her, switching on a bedside lamp. "I don't want to smell like roses."

"Pity. After today, I thought smelling like anything would be an improvement."

"Did you just come in to insult me before I went to bed? Is this some weird pre-bedtime ritual you've started since I've been gone?"

"No, I could insult you any time," Purdey said brightly, moving to stand near him. "But as it happens, I did come to look at you. Though not for the reasons that always seem to come to that mind of yours." Her eyes scanned his face. "I thought you were dead. I still do, in a way. I suppose I wanted to make sure you were really here."

Gambit lifted his left hand and flexed his fingers in front of her face. "In the flesh."

The dressing gown's sleeve slipped down his arm, and Purdey caught sight of the rawness of his wrists. "Shouldn't you dress those?"

Gambit twisted his wrist as he examined it appraisingly. "No, should be all right. I cleaned them in the shower, and they're not that deep."

She nodded along, but clearly her mind wasn't on his wrists. "It's very strange to be looking at you," she confessed, when his gaze turned inquiring. "I don't think my brain knows quite whether to believe my eyes or the picture in my head. Very strange." She treated him to a small smile. "But a good kind of strange."

"That's your stock and trade," Gambit quipped, and Purdey narrowed her eyes at him in ever-so-slight offence. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" he added, and couldn't help a touch of innuendo slipping into his voice.

"Yes, I should," she agreed, adding some innuendo of her own in for good measure. "So should you. You look awful."

Gambit pulled a face. "Thanks."

Purdey turned and moved for the door, opened it, then glanced at him over her shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning." She meant it as a statement, but he could hear a question in her words, and there was uncertainty in her eyes. In a way, she still didn't quite believe he was alive.

"You will," he assured, simultaneously addressing her concerns, and leaving her pride intact. "Goodnight, Purdey."

She smiled. "Goodnight, Gambit." And then she was gone.

VVV

Despite Gambit's assurances, Purdey awoke the next morning, and sat bolt upright in bed, mind struggling to pick apart fantasy from reality. She was fairly certain the events of the previous day hadn't been a dream, that she had found Gambit, alive and well. But waking up in the same room she had spent the past week mourning his death made it difficult to convince herself that the day before hadn't all been a hopeful dream, one depicting what she wished would happen as opposed to what had actually transpired. She rose quickly and forced herself to get ready before making her way downstairs to face the music. If Gambit was alive, and she came bursting in looking desperate, bedhead and all, he'd never let her forget it.

Once she was presentable, she made her way downstairs, bracing herself when she opened the door at the top of the staircase leading down into Steed's dining room. She almost closed her eyes, but going down the stairs meant it was advisable to keep them open as she descended. But almost as soon as she was on the landing, she had a perfect view of the dining room table and the scene below. She took in the array of breakfast things, Steed's broad shoulders, covered in an exquisitely-tailored grey suit jacket, his back to her as he sat at the head of the table. And to his right, idly reading the morning paper, was Gambit, shaved, dressed, and looking much better rested than he had the night before. Despite the softness of her footsteps on the landing, he seemed to feel her eyes on him, and looked up at her instinctively.

"Purdey!" he greeted cheerfully. "Come down and have some breakfast. Steed's been telling me that appetite of yours didn't fare much better than I did this past week." He picked up a plate at his elbow, bearing what was obviously the other half of a piece of toast he'd already consumed that morning. "We can't have you wasting away. You can have some of mine."

"I fully intend to have breakfast," Purdey said briskly, as she descended the stairs. "But when I do, Mike Gambit, I'll have something of my own. I don't need to resort to your leftovers."

"Suit yourself." Gambit set the plate down, and went back to his newspaper. Purdey walked over and pulled out the chair beside him, eyed the toast.

"Well, if you're not going to have it," she said, and snagged it off the plate, took a bite. "It would be a shame to waste it," she added, as Gambit grinned at her.

"Of course," he said, with no little amusement, as Purdey settled into the seat beside him, and proceeded to sprinkle crumbs on his sleeve.

Steed allowed himself a small smile at the gesture. "Gambit and I were just discussing whether or not we ought to effect his resurrection at the Ministry."

"What I still don't understand," Purdey cut in, finishing her toast, "is how he can possibly be alive. Like I said last night, I know I saw him killed, just as I know he's sitting right here beside me." She looked at Gambit, eyes betraying her frustration. "I know I saw you shot in the head. I can see it when I close my eyes. And yet here you are."

Gambit grinned. "Here I am."

"Yes..." Purdey's brow was furrowed in puzzlement. "I know that. But I can still see..." She closed her eyes tightly. "I can see him shooting you. I can see the bullet go in. I can see the blood. You're dead, but you're alive." Something flashed behind her eyelids, a second image, similar but not identical to the first. "Wait..."

Steed and Gambit exchanged confused, concerned glances. "What is it?" Gambit wanted to know, but Purdey shushed him. Keeping her eyes shut, she pressed her fingers to her temples, as though she were having some sort of brainstorm. In a way, she was.

"I can see the blood," she whispered. And she could. Could see it streaming down Gambit's face from the hole in his forehead. And then, just like that, it was gone, as though a layer had been lifted away from her consciousness, to reveal an unblemished image underneath. The blood was gone. "And I can't see it," she added, frown deepening. "I can see both of them. Both realities." She pressed her fingers harder into her temples, fingernails digging into the skin. "I know they're both true, but that's impossible. How can that be possible? How?" she interrogated herself. Her brain was struggling to reconcile the two trains of thought, and she felt as though the effort was going to tear her consciousness in two. Then suddenly, she felt the light dawn, as a new image surfaced, from somewhere deep in her consciousness. "No," she whispered. "No, that's wrong. I don't know that they're both true. I only know that one of them is true. The other one I've been told. I was told...I was persuaded." Her eyes flew open in sudden understanding, and she whirled round to face Gambit and Steed, who were regarding her with more than a measure of concern by this point. "I was ordered," she said firmly. "I was conditioned to see Gambit die. To see the blood and wound, and to hear the shot. I was meant to see it. Someone wanted me to."

Gambit's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Smith. He brainwashed you."

"We weren't out long enough for him to brainwash," Purdey contradicted. "But he might have drugged me." She rolled up her sleeve, pointed at the inside of her elbow. "I had an injection site just here. Kendrick saw it. But that wasn't where the sedative went in, was it Gambit?"

Gambit looked to Steed, shook his head. "It went in through the armrests, on the underside of our arms."

"I thought it was another injection site for more sedative," Purdey went on, feeling the pieces coming together now. "But that doesn't make sense now. I can hear a voice, faintly, in my head. I can hear Smith. And he's telling me that if I see someone point a gun at Gambit and pull the trigger, I will see him die, whether that's true or not." She shook her head in disbelief. "It must be a drug, a powerful one. Because I believed it absolutely. I believed Gambit was dead, more than I've ever believed anything."

Steed was regarding her seriously. "And now?"

"Now I can see it's an illusion, though it's still difficult to resist." Purdey bit her lip. "The more I look at Gambit, the more I contradict what I was told to believe, the more I'm able to recall the conditioning, and recall what actually happened. Do you think that's possible?"

Steed rose from the dining room table, breakfast forgotten. "We'll know in a moment. I know a way we can test Purdey's theory."

Gambit met the older man's eyes. "Mrs. Sands."

Steed nodded. "I told her you were dead yesterday. I think you staying as such for another hour or two ought to work in our advantage. If we can use you as a way of proving our case, perhaps she'll remember Smith being just as persuasive about George's intentions as he was about your demise." He retrieved his bowler and brolly from a nearby chair, and beckoned to his colleagues. "Come along. Something tells me time is of the essence."

VVV

Maud Sands opened the door to find Steed and Purdey waiting on the other side. Instantly, her kindly face was creased with regret.

"Oh, John," she said sadly. "I've been feeling just awful about that young Mr. Gambit being killed while investigating the whole sorry affair with George. I can't help but think it's my fault."

Steed, to her surprise, looked pleased at the sentiment. "I thought you might have," he said pleasantly. "You took the report at face value, I assume?"

"Why, yes." Mrs. Sands looked mildly puzzled. "Why shouldn't I?"

"And you believe he's dead?" Steed pressed.

"Yes," Maud repeated, looking quite befuddled, but still sad. She shook her head mournfully. "Such a shame. He seemed a nice young man, very quiet."

"Thanks for the kind words." Much to Mrs. Sands' surprise, Gambit appeared behind Purdey and Steed, looking appreciative. "They mean a lot, even to a dead man."

Mrs. Sands' mouth dropped open comically, eyes wide. "But...but how can that be possible?" she stammered. "John, you told me!"

"I think this is a case of not believing everything you hear," Steed said grimly, taking her gently by the shoulders and steering her back inside the house. "Or see, for that matter." He pressed her gently onto the couch, then took a seat beside her, leaving Purdey and Gambit to occupy the armchairs opposite. Maud's eyes were transfixed on Gambit, and Steed didn't attempt to redirect her gaze, even as he spoke to her. "Tell me, Maud," he said, voice even. "As of right now, what do think about Gambit sitting in front of you?"

"I think it's impossible," the woman blurted out, still unable to tear her eyes off Gambit. "You said he was dead. It was confirmed. Remains had been identified. You." She turned her attention to Purdey. "Steed said you applied to have him declared dead only yesterday."

Purdey nodded in confirmation. "I did."

She looked back to Steed. "And you weren't lying to me before?"

Steed shook his head. "You have my word."

"Then how...?"

"How indeed?" Steed agreed. "It is, as you say, impossible, and yet the impossible is staring you in the face, which goes to show that even things we're very certain of can be incorrect." He did break Maud's trance now, gently touching her arm so she would turn her to face him. "Which is why I'd like to pose you another impossible scenario. I'd like you to entertain, for a moment, the possibility that you did not see George handling top secret files that night."

Maud blinked. "But I did," she asserted, almost desperately. "I know I did. I saw them clear as day."

"Did you?" Steed held her gaze. "What if I were to tell you that the files were ordinary, non-classified files, the sort George brought home on a regular basis? What if I were to tell you that was the truth?"

Maud shook her head, forehead crinkled in confusion. "No, no, that's—"

"Impossible?" Steed finished. "The way that Gambit sitting in this room, alive, with you, is impossible?"

"I..." Maud put a hand to her forehead, eyes clenching shut. "I—That can't-I saw." She paused, and Steed felt her body tense. "I saw..."

"Yes?" Steed asked urgently. "What did you see?"

"I saw..." Her eyes suddenly flew open, in shock and alarm. "I didn't see those files. They were ordinary." She gasped, and clapped a hand over her mouth, as though she couldn't believe what she had just said. "I didn't!" she mumbled through her mouth. "I didn't! But I did! I can see them in my head, both ways." She looked from Steed, to Purdey, to Gambit, and back again. "How is that possible?"

Purdey, who knew best at this stage just how confused the poor woman was, leaned forward and said in a soothing voice, "Mrs. Sands, when you see the files, is there a voice in your head telling you what to see?"

Mrs. Sands looked at her in surprise. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "Yes, there is. How did you know?"

Steed's mouth pressed into a thin line. "We think it might be some sort of conditioning."

"Conditioning?" Mrs. Sands was still looking between them in confusion and alarm. "What sort of conditioning? And who would possibly want to do it to me?"

"We have an idea," Steed murmured, exchanging glances with Purdey and Gambit.

"Then...then it never happened? There were no stolen files?" Maud asked in horrified disbelief as the consequences of her actions dawned on her. "George!" she exclaimed. "Oh, George, what have I done?" She buried her face in her hands and began to cry.

"There, now," Steed soothed, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You didn't know. You did what you thought was best given your circumstances. George won't hold that against you, particularly if you were being deceived. You haven't done anything wrong."

"I had my husband taken into custody!" Maud snapped back, raising her eyes from her hands. "How can you say I haven't done anything wrong?"

"You've done something very right by helping us uncover the conditioning," Gambit pointed out. "Now that we know, we can help your husband, and probably a lot of other people whose lives have gone south."

"I have?" Maud looked to Steed with hope in her eyes. "John?"

"Gambit's right," Steed confirmed, rising. "I'm sorry we can't stay any longer, Maud, but I'll have someone come to you. We have to be on our way. We'll need more pieces of the puzzle before we can clear George."

Maud wiped away a tear. "Of course," she said, clearing her throat. "Whatever you need to do, John. I understand. Just bring George back."

"I'll endeavour to do my best," Steed assured, ushering Purdey and Gambit out the door.

VVV

"But why?" Purdey exclaimed, frustrated and bewildered, as they left Maud Sands' home. "Why would they brainwash Maud to think her husband did something he didn't do? Wouldn't it make more sense to brainwash him to take the files?"

"It is odd," Steed agreed, scratching his chin with the handle of his umbrella in thought.

"And why make me think that Gambit was dead?" Purdey went on. "That meant they couldn't use him as a hostage for leverage. And they didn't bother to interrogate him, so they got nothing back. And why tamper with the lives of all those other people when it was all for nought. If none of it happened, what purpose does it serve?"

Gambit's eyes lit up. He whirled on Purdey, suddenly intense. "But they believed it happened," he said in triumph.

Purdey took a step back in surprise. "Yes, but it didn't actually."

"But no one knows that," Gambit said with feeling. "And the people that would know, could know, believe it did. And if they did…"

"Why not everyone else?" Steed cut in.

Gambit nodded. "Yes! It's the ring of Gyges."

Recognition flickered in Purdey's eyes. "I remember that from school. How do you know it?"

"An old girlfriend of mine was doing a Ph.D in philosophy." Gambit saw Purdey's face cloud over and help up a hand. "Just hear me out. One day she told me about the ring of Gyges. It was all a bit Tolkien. Find a ring, makes you invisible, and then you can do whatever you want. Then when you take it off, and people see you, you can act like a model citizen, and everyone thinks you're a decent sort."

"Even if you're not," Purdey put in.

Steed's eyes lit up. "I remember something about this as well. Plato and morality and all that."

Gambit nodded. "Right. The question is, does it matter if you're a good man, so long as people think you are?"

Purdey's eyes were on him, and Gambit could sense she was thrumming with excitement. "And in this case…"

"What if that's Smith's stock and trade? Not making things happen, but making people think they happen. And the best way to do that is have a believable source say it happened."

"Such as your devoted spouse, who would have no reason to lie," Purdey suggested, looking to Steed.

"Maud Sands," the senior agent concluded. "We all believed her. She had no reason to lie. As far as she was concerned, she wasn't lying."

"Or your partner, who should have been the last person to give you up for dead," Gambit added, with a knowing smile aimed at Purdey.

Purdey's eyes were bright now, the thrill of unravelling the puzzle reflected in her eyes. "Smith wanted everyone to think you were dead without actually killing you. He could stage it, but it'd be too risky to leave a fake body to be examined. But if you had no body, no one would believe it. I was the proof."

Gambit nodded. "The eyewitness who wouldn't lie. That's why you couldn't stop him, even by surrendering. He was going to shoot me no matter what happened. All he needed was for you to see it, and the drug made sure you saw it the way he wanted you to."

"That's why he let me go," Purdey fumed, as realisation. "I knew it was too easy. Someone should have come after me."

"If that's true," Steed said thoughtfully, "that begs the question. To what end? I can't see Smith putting this much work into faking the death of one agent. So what does he have to gain?"

Gambit pondered this for a moment. "What if," he said slowly, "I was the test case?"

Steed arched an interested eyebrow. "Test case?"

Gambit nodded. "All those people who came in, poked and prodded me. All they cared about was who I was, not what I knew. What if Smith was trying to show them that his drug worked, that Purdey could make the whole world believe I was dead because she believed it, even though I was sitting there right in front of them." He swallowed hard. "What if I was the sales pitch? To prove that it could work in a real plot, one that mattered?"

Purdey was alert to the possibilities. "He could sell it to the highest bidder!" she exclaimed. "If you used it on the right people, you could influence the markets, fake assassinations—"

"Start world wars," Steed finished, suddenly urgent. "Gambit, do you remember who those representatives were? Or which countries they were from?"

"Just about," Gambit confirmed. "And none of them could be called our allies, I can tell you that much. Wait." He frowned. "Didn't you say there was a peace conference this week?"

"It's today," Steed confirmed. "There are delegates from dozens of nations attending, not all of them friendly. And I suddenly have a feeling we ought to look into who is attending and see if any of their less-reputable representatives paid you a visit this past week." He beckoned them to follow him as Purdey and Gambit looked at one another in alarm. "The Ministry will have a complete list. I suggest we don't waste any time."


	11. The Comeback & The Conference

In their haste, there wasn't time to phone ahead and brace the Ministry for the imminent return of their most-recently deceased operative. As a result, Gambit was expecting at least a modicum of surprise when he set foot in the building, flanked by Steed and Purdey. The Ministry's lobby was unoccupied, except for a secretary working at the front desk, just before the security check. Her eyes were on her work when they entered, but rose when they approached, and then executed an amusing doubletake as she realised just who it was standing in front of her.

"Gambit!" she exclaimed, forgetting the "Mr." she was required to append to his name in professional settings. Given that all of their interactions hadn't taken place in a strictly professional context, it was an understandable mistake. She stood up with a start, gaping at him unashamedly.

"Hello, Helena." Gambit flashed her his most charming smile, earning a glare from Purdey that he only just caught in his peripheral vision. "Did you miss me?"

"Miss you!" the girl gasped. "You're dead!"

"Rumours of my death might be a bit exaggerated," Gambit told her, leaning on the desk in a friendly manner. "But I was put out of commission, not killed."

"Not yet," Purdey muttered, sotto voice. Gambit ignored her sour tone and kept his eyes on Helena.

"Is the black for me?" he wanted to know, nodding at her sombre attire.

Helena glanced down at her dress, and blushed rather prettily in contrast. "Well, I thought...I mean, it only seemed right."

"Thanks for the thought," Gambit told her appreciatively. "I'm touched."

Purdey cleared her throat angrily, and Gambit realised that he was milking it a touch too much, decided to get down to business.

"Listen, Helena, I realise this is all a bit…weird. And I know I've been put on the inactive list, all my files set for destruction, that sort of thing. But I need you to see your way into letting me in. It's urgent."

"Well, it's all very unusual," Helena said slowly, "and technically you are dead, which means that your security clearance technically died with you."

Gambit leaned forward, locking his eyes with hers. "But?" he prompted, with exaggerated pathos.

Helena, lost in his eyes, smiled dreamily. "But given the circumstances. I mean, it is very unusual. But you are definitely you." She let her eyes pan down his body, and back up again. "And anyway, they can vouch for you." She nodded at Steed and Purdey. "So I'll see you're let through."

"I'm not sure I want to vouch for him," Purdey said archly, but Steed was more impatient, and less in the mood for games.

"Thank you, Helena," Gambit told her, giving her hand a squeeze. Helena made a call, and the trio passed through security before stepping onto the lift.

"She was certainly happy to see you alive," Purdey said with feigned disinterest, and Gambit regarded her with a combination of smugness and amusement.

"So were you, if I remember rightly," he reminded.

"I never looked at you like that," Purdey huffed, crossing her arms. "And anyway—"

"While I hate to interrupt, we do have more pressing matters to attend to," Steed cut in.

Purdey and Gambit broke off arguing with their eyes, if that was possible, to regard Steed, looking suitably chastened. "Sorry," they apologised in unison, and Steed resisted the urge to comment on their resemblance to a pair of naughty schoolchildren.

The lift door slid open, and the trio stepped out, making their way for the records office that would tell them who, exactly, was acting as each country's representatives at the conference.

Unsurprisingly, Gambit's presence attracted more than a few gasps and double-takes, followed by hushed conversations as people traded intel, files held over their mouths. Heads peeked not-so-subtly out of doors. Purdey may have only had his file closed the day before, but for the past week, word had gotten around about what she'd seen. Gambit was dead. No doubt about it. She'd seen it with her own eyes. And yet, here he was, doing a very good resurrection impression. Gambit was keeping his expression impassive, not bothering to glance at the people who ogled at him in his wake, but Purdey could tell from the spark in his eyes that he was rather enjoying causing a stir. She had to admit, she enjoyed it a bit herself. It wasn't often one got to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with a dead man.

One person they passed in the corridor wasn't content to quietly gossip in doorways. Larry Carrington, one-time victim of the brain-draining machine, caught sight of Gambit and executed an abrupt about-face, falling into step beside them. "Gambit!" he exclaimed. "You're supposed to be dead!"

Gambit flashed him a lightning-quick smile. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Larry was clearly struggling to reconcile the living, breathing man with what he'd heard through the grapevine. "But, I mean, what the devil?"

"Nothing to do with him," Gambit quipped. "Just a case of everyone getting a little ahead of themselves."

"But Purdey saw you—" He looked to Purdey. "You saw him! How can you be sure that it's even him? That he's not some double sent in to gather intel?"

Gambit looked at the girl by his side. "Don't worry. Purdey did a thorough job of screening me last night."

"Gambit!" Purdey shot him a look, but her face was just a little red.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Larry wanted to know. "And even if it is you, you're officially inactive. You're not supposed to be here."

"Yes, but he is and I think I can trust him, dead or alive," Steed said sharply, "and we've rather a lot on our plate at the moment, so if you don't mind…" He picked up his pace, and Purdey and Gambit were forced to follow suit. Gambit shot Larry a cocky smile over his shoulder.

"Don't worry. We can catch up later."

Larry was left fuming.

They arrived at the records office, walking in on a clerk who was suddenly very flustered to be confronted by two living top agents, and a third, dead one.

"Mr. Gambit!" the clerk exclaimed in surprise. "But I-I thought—"

"Yes, we all did," Steed said cheerfully, but with a degree of authority that made the clerk tear his eyes away from the living, breathing Mike Gambit. "And all that will be explained in due course. But right this moment, we've rather more pressing things to attend to, namely the peace conference. We urgently require a list of the participants, and their staffs."

"Yes, of course," the clerk agreed, moving quickly to retrieve the file, then looked uncertainly at Gambit. "You mustn't show it to him," he cautioned as he returned. "His security clearance died when he did. Or we thought he did." He smiled weakly at Gambit. "Nothing personal, mind."

"Don't be ridiculous. He was never dead!" Purdey said in frustration. "And anyway, he's the one who needs to read it."

"I'm sorry," the clerk apologised. "Not until his clearance is reinstated."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Without warning, Purdey approached the counter, turned her back to it, hiked herself up on the edge, and swivelled her legs around so she could drop gracefully onto the other side. "You can be replaced by any high-level employee with clearance in an emergency, can't you?" she demanded as the man gaped at her.

"Well, yes, technically," he began, "but I don't see—"

"Well, I have clearance, and this is definitely an emergency," Purdey declared, taking the file from the clerk's numb hands. "And since I'm the one who's going to show it to Gambit, you needn't worry about putting your neck on the chopping block."

"But-but," the clerk stammered.

Purdey ignored him, opening the file on the counter, swivelling it around and sliding it across to Gambit. "Anyone you recognise?"

Gambit was regarding her with smitten admiration. "I feel like I should applaud," he congratulated. He looked over his shoulder at his colleague. "Don't you, Steed?"

"A 'bravo' does seem to be in order, at the very least," Steed agreed.

Purdey smiled, basking in the praise. "You can show your appreciation by taking me out to dinner later. But now—" She tapped her index finger on the file. "Focus. Do any names on there leap out at you?"

Gambit tore his eyes off her and slid the file even further forward, skimmed the list with remarkable efficiency. "Loads," he confirmed, turning the page. "At least in terms of the people who'd have an interest in mucking about with our relations with both our allies and our enemies. Sometimes I didn't see the leaders of the groups that came in to poke and prod me, but the countries they represent are definitely there. Including—" He pointed at one particular line on the page. "-my old friend, the Countess."

Purdey pursed her lips at the name, flipped the file shut hard enough that it stung Gambit's hand before he could withdraw it. "I think we'd better get over there, then," she advised, handing the file back to the stunned clerk even as Gambit shook out his hand. "Don't you?"

VVVV

It quickly became clear that a week in captivity had done nothing to tame Gambit's driving skills the instant they all piled into Steed's Jaguar which, considering the circumstances, the senior agent had allowed him to drive.

"How do you think they'll administer the drug?" Purdey mused. "I mean, it's high security, and they're not going to be able to smuggle a load of syringes into the conference room, let alone actually use them."

"Smith administered the drug through our skin when he captured us," Gambit reminded, changing gear and speeding up. "They know where everyone's going to be sitting. All they have to do is put it on the right chairs."

"Yes, but was that the sedative or the brainwashing drug?" Purdey wanted to know. "We were unconscious, not hallucinating."

"We'll have to assume it can be," Steed said seriously. "Nothing can be ruled out at this stage." He nodded out the windscreen at a grand building, around which reporters, policemen, and passersby were all milling around in anticipation of the conference. Gambit lay on the horn, but the masses refused to budge.

"Leave the car," Steed told Gambit, as the younger man pulled as close to curb as possible given the crush. "I rather think that avoiding World War Three is worth a parking violation."

Purdey and Gambit followed him out onto the street, pressing through the throng to get to the front. Steed spotted a security man, beckoned Purdey and Gambit to join him, and explained the situation to him as they pressed their way through. By that time, Steed was past the cordons and into the relative peace of the area immediately in front of the building, to which far fewer people were being allowed access.

"Where are we going, Steed?" Purdey wanted to know, hurrying to keep up.

"The conference room. If Smith's going to try anything, it'll be there. The Ministers are going to be cloistered alone in that room for at least an hour before anyone is allowed in or out. It's a security precaution."

"More than enough time for fireworks," Gambit said grimly, pulling open the door and letting Purdey go first.

They were confronted by metal detectors at security just inside the lobby, and despite the guard outside having called ahead, they were still forced to pass through. Steed was able to convince security to let him retain both steel-crowned bowler and umbrella, but Purdey and Gambit were forced to surrender their guns. "Hopefully you won't need them," Steed commented, urging them toward the lift when Gambit looked set to argue.

They took the lift up to the conference room level, and when the door opened were confronted with a host of chattering ministers and attaches, all awaiting entry to the conference room. They regarded the agents with mild interest as they passed through, before returning their attention to their respective discussions. Steed, wasting no time, spotted the guard by the door to the conference room and hurried toward him, cutting an (extremely polite) trail in his wake as he excused himself to the various delegates he had to squeeze past. He reached the guard and flashed his Ministry red card at him, noticed with no small measure of satisfaction that it made him stand a little straighter.

"The conference room," Steed inquired, eschewing the introductions. "How many people have been in it this morning?"

The guard looked mildly offended by the question. "No one other than security personnel, sir. And we're very strict about giving clearance."

"Of course." Steed flashed him a smile. "But you're absolutely certain no one's been inside who shouldn't have? No one who seemed suspicious?"

"No, sir," the guard repeated. "And no one will. The next people inside will be the delegates, just as soon as the cleaning staff give it a final straightening up."

Steed's eyebrows shot up in alarm, and Purdey and Gambit snapped to attention beside him. "The cleaning staff!"

"Why, yes sir. But they were checked. All they had was some bottles of cleaning product."

"Cleaning product?!" Steed, Purdey, and Gambit exclaimed simultaneously in alarm. "We need to go inside," Steed asserted to the guard,

"But—"

"You've seen my credentials. I'll take full responsibility. But you have to let us inside now!"

The guard opened his mouth to reply, but Steed shouldered past him, followed by Gambit and Purdey, who didn't give him a chance to stop them. Steed swung open the broad oak doors and found two men studiously spraying a clear liquid onto the arms of the chairs around the conference table, and then spreading it over the surface with chamois. They looked up at the intrusion in surprise. Steed beamed at them. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I was wondering if you did windows as well."

But the men recognised agents when they saw them, dropping their supplies and springing into action, meaning to push them out of the way and escape. But Purdey and Gambit were ready, each wordlessly moving to intercept one of the men. Purdey's man took one look at the girl in the dress and immediately underestimated her, moving to push her aside as though she were no more of an obstacle than a puff of air. She countered easily, grabbing his arm and swinging him into the wall, then following up with a knee to the solar plexus and a well-placed chop to the back of the neck. He went down, but grabbed her legs as he did so, taking her with him, and Purdey wound up trapped under his weight as she fell. He was still winded, though, and that gave Purdey the chance she needed to execute a stomach throw, sending him soaring over her and onto the conference table, sliding along the polished wood, knocking name cards and water glasses over as he went. Purdey quickly leapt to her feet and hurried over before he could recover, grabbing his arms and twisting them behind his back before dragging him up right and pressing him against the wall.

Gambit, meanwhile, was busy with his own opponent. The burlier of the two supposed "cleaners" was more observant than his unfortunate colleague, assessing Gambit as an opponent as opposed to jumping in with both feet, waiting for him to make the first move. Gambit wasn't falling for it, and the two of them did the dance of the mutually cautious. Eventually, Gambit waited the man out, and his opponent tried to land a lightning blow, which Gambit managed to dodge just in time. The man's hand slammed into the wall—and dented it. Gambit's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he didn't have time to linger, instead using the opportunity to kick the man's knee in just the right spot while he was off-balance. The man cried out and buckled a little, affording Gambit the opportunity to lay a devastating blow across his neck, then bring his knee up into his jaw with a crack. His opponent tumbled backward on the floor, and Gambit stepped over him quickly, grabbed a handful of his jacket, and "helped" him to his feet, throwing him face first into the table and holding him there.

Steed, meanwhile, had stood back from the action, having closed the doors behind him to prevent the Ministers from witnessing the proceedings, and was surveying the room with a studied air. Purdey looked up from restraining her opponent and frowned. "Steed?"

Steed tapped the handle of his umbrella against his mouth in thought. "How was Smith going to get his message out?"

Purdey's frown deepened. "What?"

Steed looked to her. "The conditioning. It's in two parts. We've deduced that much. The first part is the drug that makes you hear and see what Smith wants you to hear and see, but in order for you to do so, he has to somehow convey what it is that he wants you to experience." He pointed his brolly at her. "You must have been conditioned when you were unconscious, or at least when you thought you were. Smith spoke to you directly."

Purdey nodded in agreement. "Yes, I can remember it, but just barely."

Steed turned to Gambit. "And Maud Sands received a phone call which likely contained her instructions."

Gambit's eyes lit up in understanding. "So there has to be a way to pipe the message in." He nodded down at his own quarry. "Can't be them. They'd be kicked out before the ministers came in."

"Agreed. And I doubt that just anyone can say the right things, or that Smith would risk it. There must be something in the room…" He let his eyes wander, glanced upward. "Ah!" He opened the door, accosting the put-upon guard once more. "My good man, could you tell me what that speaker in the ceiling is for?"

The guard was looking aghast at the state of the conference room, but somehow managed to put together an answer. "It's for the ministers," he explained, watching Purdey push her man forcefully back down on the table as he attempted to struggle upright. "It's meant to signal to them when the doors open for their break, or let them know if there's an announcement or one of them needs to step outside. That way the proceedings can remain confidential—no one would walk in at an inopportune moment."

"Thank you," Steed said cheerfully. "Now would you mind calling security? My colleagues currently have their hands full. " With that, he crossed to the table and, using a chair, climbed onto the surface. The guard's mouth actually fell open.

"As soon as you can," Steed added, before flipping the cover off the intercom and sticking the handle of his umbrella inside.

The guard looked as if he were about to say something, then gave up and spoke into his radio. His message was cut short by a heavily-accented voice. For Gambit, a very familiar one.

"Stand aside. I must speak with—Mike!"

Steed, Purdey, and Gambit's heads all snapped toward the door at once, but Gambit was the only one who met the Russian Countess' eyes.

"Mike!" the statuesque 'cultural attaché' repeated, ice blue eyes betraying her frustration as the guard held her back. "Let go of me, you fool!"

"Countess," Gambit acknowledged, and saw Purdey snap to attention out of the corner of his eye. "Let her through," Gambit ordered the guard, still holding down his charge.

Purdey's jaw dropped. "Mike, are you mad?"

"Not yet," Gambit said grimly. "Let her in."

The guard shook his head. "Oh, no. You three aren't even supposed to be in here, let alone her."

Gambit looked to his boss. "Steed." He didn't need to ask the question. Steed knew it without being told. He nodded once in affirmation, both to the guard and to his colleague.

"I'll take responsibility for her," he told the guard. "Let her in."

The guard looked from one to the other in desperation, then seemed to realise he was beat, and let the woman go. The Countess huffed and glared daggers at him, then brushed past, slamming the door behind her with no small measure of satisfaction.

"Mike," the Countess greeted, pleased smile stretching across her face to reveal a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. She crossed the room hands outstretched to embrace him, despite the man he was still holding down, but Gambit cleared his throat gently and flicked his eyes in Purdey's direction. The Countess frowned, followed his gaze, then seemed to understand. Her hands dropped, but she still stood closer to him than an acquaintance would, whether out of intention or habit he didn't know. "I heard that you were here. I see you used my gift."

Gambit smiled at the reference to the hair pin. "I'm going to owe you for that one for a very long time. I don't know if I would've gotten away without it."

The Countess inclined her head graciously. "I am happy to see that you did," she said genuinely. "And you have things well in hand, I see."

"Not as well as we'd like," Gambit said ruefully, still holding his man down. "We still don't know all of Smith's plan."

She shrugged. "I cannot help you. I am only an observer."

"Then what do you observe about this?" Steed had pulled the wires from the intercom and was now picking through them. He indicated a small, familiar-looking box.

"Radio transmitter," Purdey identified, straightening in surprise while still restraining her man. "Smith must have been planning a transmission. That's how he was going to talk to the ministers." She looked pointedly at Gambit. "That means he must be in range."

Gambit turned to the Countess. "Do you know where he is?"

The Countess shook her head. "I am only an observer," she repeated.

"Come on, Countess," Gambit wheedled. "If you're only an observer, it's not your scheme to spoil. For old time's sake, tell me. Please."

The Countess smiled a small secretive smile. "I am only an observer," she parroted. "I observe many things. Like the van out of the window."

Gambit's head snapped round to look out the conference room's one, reinforced glass window. A while van was just visible, parked around the corner from the building, outside of the police cordons. "That?" he queried, turning back to regard the Countess. "Is Smith in there?"

Her smile broadened and she leaned in close, lips just brushing his car as she said, "I am an observer, but my observations may be useful for many people." She pulled back and, meeting his eyes, winked, once and very deliberately.

Gambit nodded his thanks, knew it would put her at risk to say anything more. "I'm going after Smith," he declared, looking up at Steed. "Would you mind?" He pointed his chin at the man he was restraining.

"Not at all." Steed alighted from the conference table and moved to take on his prisoner. Purdey was regarding them all with disbelief.

"You're not actually going to listen to her?" she asked Gambit, as he moved to the conference room door. "You're not taking her word for it, and without back-up?"

"We've got a lead, Purdey," Gambit countered. "We've got to follow it, even if it doesn't work out. I'll get my gun at security, but if we send too many people in, we'll spook him. Just the way we will if he catches on that something's gone wrong, so we have to move now."

Purdey was shaking her head, not at his reasoning, but at the fact he was leaving. "But-but what if—"

"I'll be all right," Gambit interrupted, giving her a cocky wink. "Promise." And then he was gone.

"Mike Gambit!" Purdey exclaimed, outraged, but he was already disappearing out the door. The Countess was watching as well, and sauntered casually over to where Purdey stood, still restraining her captive.

"You are Purdey," she observed matter-of-factly, regarding her with a frankness Purdey found slightly unnerving. "I recognise you from your file."

"Oh yes?" Purdey said archly. "I've never had occasion to read yours."

The Countess, to her surprise, smiled. "But you have heard of me?"

"Idle gossip, perhaps," Purdey said stiffly. "We do have rather a lot of things to talk about. Important things." She didn't want to tell the woman that not only had her escapades with Gambit made their way through the Ministry grapevine, but that Purdey herself had made a point of seeking them out, and then gone to Gambit to confirm them-which he had, readily. Now she was confronted with a curvy, statuesque blonde that she knew for a fact had slept with her partner, and it made her much more uncomfortable than she cared to admit.

"There are many important things to say, yes," the Countess agreed. "And my time with Mike was before he met you, yes?" Purdey bit down a reply, trying not to let it get to her that this woman had not only slept with Gambit, but had known him longer as well.

"Your point?" Purdey said tersely, wishing the Countess would go away, worried about what might be happening to Gambit.

"I have seen Mike once, since you arrived," the Countess said simply. "He talked about you. More than he should for a partner." She leaned in close. "He talked about you with his eyes."

Purdey regarded her with surprise, but the Countess simply continued. "He did not talk to me this way. But you do the same. You talk about him with your eyes."

Purdey felt herself flush. "I don't know what you mean," she said stridently, conscious of Steed's presence in the room.

"Yes, you do," the Countess disagreed. "And you want to be by his side now, just as he wants you to be there." She reached out to restrain the man Purdey held. "I will take him. You must go."

Purdey looked to Steed, who nodded. "Security will be here any moment. I think we can trust her. Gambit's given her his vote of confidence, after all."

"A bit more than that," Purdey said wryly, but let the Countess take over. "Thank you."

The Countess smiled knowingly. "We know of such things on the other side of the curtain, too. Now go."

Purdey went.

VVVVV

Gambit crept up to the van, gun drawn, eyes and ears open for the slightest sign of Smith or a trap. He'd foregone all offers of back-up in favour of retaining the element of surprise, but he was starting to wonder if that was a mistake. Oh, well. Nothing to be done for it now. If he went back, there was every chance Smith wouldn't be there when he returned. He set his jaw and stayed on course.

After a quick recce revealed no one was sitting in the front, so he circled around the back instead. Keeping the gun in his right hand, he reached out with the left and took hold of the handle on the door at the back, held his breath as he turned it agonisingly slowly. He counted to three, then flung the door back, hard, before leaping into the opening, gun at ready.

It was empty.

Gambit frowned, lowering his weapon as he surveyed the interior. There was radio transmission equipment, all right. And a chair. But no Smith.

He was about to put the equipment to use and transmit a message to Steed when he felt something cold and metallic press against the base of his skull.

"This is a gun, Mr. Gambit," said Smith's voice. "And if you don't drop yours, I'm going to kill you. For real this time."

"There's nothing you can do now," Gambit said calmly, drawing on all of his reserves of self-discipline and refusing to let himself panic. "It's over. We've uncovered your scheme to sabotage the conference, and we'll be on the lookout for the drug now."

"Do you honestly think that was my only idea?" Smith asked with a laugh. "I'm brilliant, Mr. Gambit, if I do say so myself. I can always invent something else. And your lot can't be everywhere. There are ways to use this drug that would keep me quite comfortable, I assure you. But I can't enjoy any of that if I'm locked in a prison cell, so drop your gun, if you please. I could use you as leverage to get me out of the country, but don't think that I won't kill you in a heartbeat."

Gambit felt the barrel press harder into his skull, and knew he had no choice but to comply. Smith was desperate enough to kill him to stay free. So he did as he was told, dropping the gun.

"Thank you," Smith said. "Now into the chair, if you please."

Gambit set his jaw, but stepped forward, then chanced a look behind him, just in time to see Smith pick up his gun. In his other hand was a small piece of pipe. Smith noticed Gambit's frown and smiled.

"Looking for my gun, Mr. Gambit?" he mocked. "The truth is I never had one. I was using this the whole time." He indicated the pipe, which he discarded. "I took the precaution of treating the handles on the van with my solution. You're now under the influence. My influence. I didn't have a gun, but I told you I did, and you believed me. See what I meant about that drug coming in handy?" He laughed again, then turned serious. "But I really do have one now, so you'd better not muck about."

Gambit looked down at his hands, but could see no trace of the drug, which worried him. It worried him even more that he might not be in his right mind, although Smith could be lying. Still, the pipe had felt like a gun, and he knew better than most how it should feel against his skin, so he chose to believe Smith for the moment. And there was no question Smith had a gun now.

Smith followed him into the van, moving to close the door behind them, when a voice rang out.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Purdey!" Gambit identified, just as Smith grabbed him by the lapel and swung him around in front of him, gun pressed to his temple. Purdey appeared, just visible through the van doorway. "Watch out! He's got a gun."

"I can see that," Purdey said crisply, her own gun not wavering for an instant. She frowned at the piece. "But why on earth does he have yours?"

"Mr. Gambit is under the influence of my drug," Smith informed. "So he was rather more trusting than he would have been under normal circumstances. But that needn't concern you. You have more pressing problems."

"So will you, if you don't let him go," Purdey warned, blue eyes boring a hole in his skull. "I owe you for one extremely hellish week, you know. I'm not feeling very forgiving. And I'm definitely not going anywhere without a living, breathing Mike Gambit, so if you know what's good for you, you won't give me an excuse to shoot."

Smith laughed. "And hit him? Or risk having me do the honours? I don't think so."

Purdey smirked. "For someone who thinks so highly of himself, and his intellect, you've made one very fatal flaw."

Smith regarded her unconcernedly. "And what is that, pray tell?"

"You've got Gambit's gun."

"I know that," Smith said sarcastically. "I took it off him. It doesn't take a genius to work that one out."

"Yes, but did you also know that he had to surrender it before they'd let him up into the conference room, just as I had to do with mine?"

"Of course."

"And do you know, when he retrieved it, whether he checked the chamber?"

Smith and Gambit both looked puzzled. "No…" Smith admitted.

Purdey's smirk broadened into a full-on grin. "I didn't think so. You see, I checked mine, and found that they'd taken all the bullets out of it as a security measure. If I hadn't, I never would have known. But since Gambit was in a hurry to get down here, I'm willing to be he didn't check, particularly since he wasn't expecting to find it empty." She arched an eyebrow at them. "So, Mike, did you check?"

Smith looked at Gambit, who grinned. "Must have slipped my mind."

Smith's jaw dropped, and his face contorted angrily. "Why you-?" He grabbed Gambit by the collar with one hand, flicked the chamber open with the other, ready to flick it back and shoot him if it came to it.

He didn't have the chance.

Purdey's bullet whisked neatly past Gambit's ear, penetrating Smith's shoulder, and sending him toppling backward onto the floor, dropping the gun in the process. Gambit kicked it away, then retrieved the handcuffs he'd stashed in his pocket and bent to cuff the wounded man, not taking particular care in wrenching the man's injured arm behind his back. It was only when Smith's hands were secured that Gambit risked a glance at Purdey. She had lowered her own, still-smoking gun, and was coolly observing the proceedings. She caught Gambit's eye and arched one perfectly tended eyebrow.

"Nice shooting," Gambit complimented. "You got here in a hurry."

"I couldn't very well let you die twice," Purdey quipped, humour gracing her features. "Think of the paperwork."

"I'm trying not to," Gambit said wryly. He had no doubt there would be a very long, involved procedure for an agent who'd died twice within the space of a week. He bent and retrieved his gun, then heaved Smith to his feet, guided him by his elbow out of the van and into the sunlight, where he was joined by Purdey, alert and ever-watchful.

"I did check it, you know," he told her when she was by his side, flipping open the chamber so she could see the bullets inside. "Fully loaded."

"Of course you did," Purdey said brightly. "But Smith didn't know that, did he?"

Gambit shook his head, but he was smiling. "Of course he didn't."

"All that mattered was that he thought you didn't," Purdey added, tongue-in-cheek. "A taste of his own medicine."

The street was crawling with security, police, and the members of various intelligence services. In among them, Gambit could pick out a handful of men that were part of the Ministry's clean-up crews. He caught one man's eye and beckoned him over. The other man understood immediately, called to one of his compatriots, and the pair hurried over. Gambit gave them a quick rundown regarding Smith's identity before releasing him into their custody, just as Steed emerged from the building and joined them.

"Well done," he praised, watching Smith being led off. "What happened to his shoulder?" he inquired.

"Purdey," Gambit said simply, and the girl beamed.

"I should have known," Steed said wryly. "While I'm exceedingly glad that you managed to take Smith into custody, I'm afraid there's still rather a lot of work to be done. I've been roped into wrangling with the various delegates for the foreseeable future. Apparently I'm the only one capable of keeping them relatively calm at this point."

"Of course you are," Purdey said brightly. "You're Steed."

Steed smiled. "Your faith in me is imminently encouraging. However, it does mean the pair of you will have to shoulder more of the burden. Purdey, I need you to supervise and brief the clean-up crew. Explain the situation and what we're dealing with. We don't want anyone accidentally coming into conduct with the drug. Once you've finished, I want you to accompany Smith into interrogation."

Purdey nodded briskly. "All right."

Steed turned to Mike. "Gambit, McKay wants a full debriefing in light of your miraculous resurrection, and he wants it now, so you had better return to the Ministry before your career proves more difficult to resurrect than you were."

"Right." Gambit nodded smartly, then raised his eyebrows as the scene he glimpsed unfolding over Steed's shoulder. A gaggle of ministers were spilling out of the hotel, talking excitedly and gesticulating wildly. They caught sight of Steed and changed course, heading straight for him, indignant demands to be briefed on the current situation already on their lips. "I, uh, think someone wants a word," Gambit told the senior agent, trying very hard to keep the amused smile off his face. Steed frowned and glanced over his shoulder, muttered something under his breath that was distinctly ungentlemanly, audible to Gambit, but just out of hearing range for Purdey. This was Steed, after all.

"I've never been so popular with the top brass," Steed muttered, not sounding entirely pleased with his newfound status. He turned back to regard his younger colleagues. "I trust I can leave you to it?"

Gambit and Purdey, poker faces in place, nodded in confirmation. "I'll see you later," Steed said by way of good-bye. "Hopefully not too much later." With that he made off, umbrella swinging in agitation. He cut the Ministers off at the pass, and somehow managed to wrangle them into a herd travelling back toward the hotel. His voice drifted back to Purdey and Gambit on the breeze, cheerful, steady, and reassuring. "Now then, gentlemen, if you'll just come back inside, I'll answer all your questions in due time. We've had a bit of a wrinkle with security, that's all."

Purdey and Gambit looked at one another, and broke down in laughter, unable to hold back their amusement a minute longer. "Poor Steed," Purdey sympathised, wiping away a tear of mirth. "I thought I had the tough job when he assigned me the clean-up crew."

"They're already looking at you hopefully," Gambit pointed out, using his sleeve to blot his eyes. He hadn't thought to pack a handkerchief before he left his flat. "I think you'd better put them out of his misery. Saunders looks lost."

"I suppose." Purdey took a deep breath and calmed herself down. Then she gave Gambit another look entirely, one that quickly cancelled out the amusement. "I'll see you later?" she inquired, just a touch of huskiness seeping into her tone.

Gambit did his best to keep his face impassive, but Purdey hadn't looked at him quite like that very often, and it proved difficult. "I don't know," he managed, keeping his voice level. "Will I?"

"Well, it depends on whether you're planning on staying alive for the foreseeable future," Purdey pointed out.

"Not unless I can't talk McKay down," Gambit quipped. "I've had my fill of death, anyway. There's no future in it."

Purdey groaned and rolled her eyes heavenward. "Mike Gambit..."

"Sorry," he said, though his grin told her he wasn't. He nodded at the car park. "I should, uh..."

"Yes, of course," she agreed, starting toward Saunders. "But I will see you later."

Gambit held her gaze. "I'm looking forward to it," he said automatically, and Purdey smiled her secretive little smile just before she turned her back on him.


	12. The Confession & The Question

In the end, it was late before Gambit found himself back at his flat. The debriefing had stretched out to close to three hours, and was followed by a tangle of tedious administrative issues that were deemed essential to getting him off the “killed in action” list and having his agent status reinstated. Toss in a host of encounters on the way to the lift, as every other Ministry agent and staff member stopped him in his journey in hopes getting to the bottom of his miraculous resurrection, and it wasn’t surprising that it was a quarter past eight when he finally got back to his flat.

He was quickly reminded of the fact that it hadn’t been lived in for more than a week, and that he hadn’t bothered to really assess the state of things when he’d returned to find Purdey defending the homestead. The dishes left on the drying rack had a fine coating of dust on them, no one had bothered to clear the remains of Charlie the sparrow’s birdseed from the windowsill, some of the things in the fridge were a total loss, and there was laundry in the hamper long overdue for a wash. And that wasn’t even counting the mass of mail he’d found crammed into his box down in the building’s lobby. Gambit took a quick tour and made a mental list of all the things that would need to be squared away before he could properly carry on with his life. Once he finished totting it up, he came to the conclusion that he needed a drink, and that was instantly moved to the top of the list. The rest would wait until morning.

He was just making his way to the bar when the buzzer rang. Gambit frowned and checked his watch. It was closer to nine by this point, a bit late for callers. Surely even Purdey wouldn’t call this late?

He made his way to the door, opened it, and was greeted by the sight of Purdey, resplendent in a button-up dress in royal purple, framed in the doorway, an enigmatic smile playing about her lips. Gambit, despite having half an idea that it might be her, was still somehow caught off his guard. She was beautiful, and soft, and above all, inviting. And she was on his doorstep. His doorstep. At nine in the evening. Just as she’d promised. 

“Purdey,” he managed, not the smoothest of opening lines, but his brain was having a bit of trouble coming up with witty things to say. Because she was here. She was here, and he had a sneaking suspicion he knew why. And he suddenly wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. “I didn’t expect you this late,” he added lamely.

“I did say I’d see you later,” Purdey reminded. “I would have caught you at the Ministry, but I just missed you.”

“Oh?” Gambit swallowed hard. “Bad timing.”

Purdey shrugged carelessly. “Not this time.” 

“No,” he agreed. Timing, in a way, had always been one of the biggest marks against them going further in their relationship, starting back in 1970 when Larry Doomer had appeared in Purdey’s life and thrown a spanner in the works before they could even clap eyes on one another. But that curse seemed to be coming to an end tonight, even if he wasn’t quite sure if he believed it. 

They stood regarding one another for a moment. Purdey arched an amused eyebrow. “Are you going to invite me in, or are you starting a new trend in doorstep entertaining?”

“Oh, right,” Gambit muttered in mild embarrassment, standing to one side and sweeping an arm inside in welcome. “Come in.”

“Thank you,” Purdey was still regarding him with amusement, notably with that secretive little smile of hers. She strode past him into the living room, and when he turned back from closing the door, she was watching him. He swallowed the lump that had formed, unbidden, in his throat, and tried not to notice just how bright her eyes were in the soft light of his flat.

“Would you like a drink?” he tried, making for the safety of the bar, and he heard Purdey tsk behind his back.

“Gambit,” she chastised, but gently, especially for Purdey. “You know as well as I do that I’m not here for a drink.”

“You’re not?” Gambit replied, turning to face her, struggling to keep his voice and expression neutral.

Purdey shook her head very, very slowly. “No,” she confirmed, taking a small, but deliberate, step toward him. “Gambit. Mike.” Another step, and her voice dropped an octave, to a place he very rarely heard outside of his very best dreams. “You said when it was all over, if I hadn’t changed my mind, I could come to you, and we could pick up where we left off.” She spread her arms out to either side, palms turned upward. “And here I am.”

Gambit felt his heart skip a beat, felt his hands start to tremble despite the iron grip they had on the bar behind him. “Purdey...” he began, but Purdey’s sudden change in expression cut him off before he could say any more.

“Mike Gambit,” she exclaimed, frustration writ large across her features. “As long as we’ve known one another, I’ve been saying ‘one of these days’, and you’ve been saying ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ You’ve done everything you possibly can to try to persuade me to go to bed with you, and now I’m here, you look as though I’ve threatened to take your head off.” She placed her hands on her hips irritably. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

Gambit took a deep breath, let it out through his nose. “I’m scared,” he admitted. Honesty was the best policy now, here, with all the cards on the table. Purdey wouldn’t accept anything else, wouldn’t believe anything but the truth. And he didn’t want to lose her by lying to her.

Her features softened, but she was still frustrated. “After everything that’s happened, what could Mike Gambit possibly be afraid of?” she wanted to know.

Gambit’s mouth quirked up on one side in a sad little smile. “Getting hurt,” he said frankly. “Because if we do this, Purdey-girl, it can’t be out of relief, or curiousity, or as payback for something you think I’m owed. And definitely not because you think it’s the last chance to get it out of your system. Maybe it won’t last. Maybe we’ll find out we’re completely incompatible, and we’d kill each other if we dragged it out, but at least going in, we both have to be on the same page. Not a fling. Not a passing fancy.” He met her eyes, so blue, so deep, hoping, praying she understood. “That’s always what it was going to be, Purdey. What I was hoping for. It can be a lot of things, but above all, it has to be real.”

For a moment, he feared he’d blown his chance, that she’d say she couldn’t agree to that, turn on her heel, and walk out of his life forever. But instead she resumed her journey, slow, graceful dancer’s steps bringing her to him, until they were inches apart. She looked up into his eyes, and there was no annoyance, no anger, no art, no guile. She said, very softly, “Tell me if this feels real.”

And then she slid her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

Properly kissed him, that is. She’d kissed him before, but this time it wasn’t because they were both drunk, or she was doing it out of relief, or as part of a pretence for an assignment. Here she was sober, sane, calm, without a single ulterior motive, and her lips were pressed against his own in a way that made it very, very clear indeed that she knew her own mind, and was acting accordingly. So he did what he’d wanted to do for nearly two years.

He kissed back.

Kissed back the way he’d always meant to, given the chance, opening his mouth to deepen it, letting his hands fall to the curve of her waist, bending his head to better the angle, because she was straining on her tiptoes to compensate for the height difference, and that would never do. He’d pictured this moment a thousand times over, and it was somehow simultaneously exactly as he’d imagined, and better. She smelt of summer, and she tasted like nothing he’d ever experienced before, but just as she should. She tasted like Purdey. 

He tightened his embrace, drew her closer, bettering the fit between their bodies, and to his elation, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she kissed back harder. Her fingers had wended their way into his hair, massaging his scalp, and he could feel the warmth of her skin through their clothes. He wanted nothing more than to capture this moment and live in it forever, hit pause and spend eternity in her arms, body tingling with the excitement of their first real kiss. But eventually, inevitably, they had to come up for air, and her lips left his, her hands sliding out of his hair to rest on his shoulders, and he was confronted once more by those big blue eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered, before his brain could come down from its high and better judgment took hold. Because he needed to say it, now, desperately, lest the opportunity be snatched from him, and he never received another. And it was liberating to finally let loose the three words he’d kept locked up in his heart for so long, concealed by jokes and light-hearted flirting. He ploughed on, determined to get it all out before she did something to stop him. “I always have. I tried to tell you, hint at it, without scaring you off, but I never knew if you took it seriously--”

“I knew,” Purdey assured, touching a finger to his lips to silence him, expression melancholy. “I pretended I didn’t, that’s all. At first I tried to tell myself you just wanted a fling, because a fling with a colleague was easy to say ‘no’ to. But you were too persistent for it to be only that, and there were things you said, the way you looked at me. I knew it had to be more to it than that, and that terrified me, because if that was the way you felt, that meant I had to think about how I felt. But I couldn’t admit how I felt to myself. Not until now.”

“And how do you feel?” Gambit wanted to know, a small smile playing on his lips that told her he already knew the answer, but would enjoy hearing it anyway.

Purdey wagged a finger at him. “Ah, I can’t answer that until you’ve answered my question.”

“What question?”

Purdey tsked in annoyance. “Did that feel real, of course. How on earth could you forget?”

“Ah, yes. That.” Gambit seemed to consider. “Well, I’d have to check it a few times to be sure, but based on the initial results I’d say yes, it did. Wonderfully real.”

Purdey fingered one of the buttons on his shirt distractedly. “And if I were to tell you that I love you, Mike Gambit, though I may be mad to admit it, would that feel real as well?”

“I don’t know,” Gambit murmured, leaning in close until their lips were almost touching. “You’d have to try.”

Purdey was breathing hard, heart pounding in her chest, as she said the three little words she’d managed to avoid saying, seriously, for so long. “I love you.”

Gambit’s hand came to rest against her cheek, tenderly. “Can you repeat that?” he requested, softly. “Just for the record.”

“I love you.” It came out more forcefully the second time, swelling from her chest with a rush of joy.

“That’s definitely real,” Gambit concluded, before pressing his mouth to hers, but whenever their lips parted, even momentarily, the words spilled out again, as though she’d been bottling them up for so long that she now had to make up for every missed opportunity, every time when she should have said it, to the point that, by the time they came up for air, she was as breathless from his kisses as she was from gasping the phrase. Her hands rested comfortably on his shoulders, and she noticed a subtle tremor beneath her fingertips.

“You’re trembling,” she realised, pleasantly surprised.

“I’m not.” Gambit’s eyes looked unusually bright, and she realised they were full of unshed tears.

“You are. I can feel it,” Purdey countered, but without any hint of accusation.

“Maybe it’s you, and you’re trying to pin it on me,” Gambit suggested shakily. “Or maybe we’re both shaking.”

“We’d cancel each other out, wouldn’t we?”

“I hope not. Wouldn’t bode well for the bedroom,” Gambit quipped, and Purdey shook her head fondly, and moved one of her hands from his shoulder to lay aside his cheek.

“Well, if it is you, I promise I won’t hold it against you,” she said kindly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“If I am,” he murmured in her ear, arms wrapping tighter around her, “and I’m not admitting anything, it’s out of happiness.”

“If that’s the case, I’m quite happy to be the cause,” Purdey said with a smile. “It’s very good for the ego for a girl to know she’s capable of bringing a man to his knees, metaphorically speaking.”

“You did that a long time ago, and not only metaphorically,” Gambit laughed, but there was a catch in his voice, and Purdey suddenly felt something damp where her cheek brushed his. She turned her head so she could kiss away the solitary salty stream.

“I suppose you’re not crying, either,” she murmured into his skin, and heard what sounded suspiciously like a small sniffle.

“Not trembling and definitely not crying,” came the response, though the voice was warm with humour. “I have a reputation to keep up.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret, just this once,” she assured, pulling back now so she could meet his eyes. He’d done a remarkable job of pulling himself together, but his eyes still looked a touch too shiny, a touch of blush tinged his cheeks, and he had to clear his throat before he spoke again.

“I, uh, think we need a drink,” he suggested, and Purdey arched an interested eyebrow.

“We?” she queried.

“We,” he repeated, firmly. “Before we both break down completely.”

“I thought I was holding up rather well,” Purdey said brightly, but Gambit shook his head and leaned in conspiratorially.

“We didn’t cancel out,” he confided, with a wink, and it was Purdey’s turn to blush a little as she realised he’d noticed she was shaking as well. “But don’t worry. I have that effect on women.”

Purdey snorted derisively. “I will need that drink if you’re going to make a habit of saying those sorts of things.”

“I’m going to say a lot of things,” Gambit said mysteriously, “but I’m not going to waste them all in one night.” Purdey’s blush deepened, and for reasons that had nothing to do with embarrassment. “Gin?” he inquired, and Purdey nodded in confirmation. “Won’t take long,” he promised, clearly reluctant to let her go despite being the one to suggest the drinks to begin with. He gave her another quick kiss that left her breathless before releasing her and moving to the bar. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Purdey brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, and looked vaguely around the flat, as though for the first time. She’d been here dozens of times before, but never in this capacity, never with the knowledge, the possibility, that she might not leave before the morning, and not because she was too exhausted to make even the short drive home, and took up Gambit’s offer to use the guest room. Where to sit when Gambit wasn’t her colleague or friend, but suddenly so much more?

She settled on the couch, making a home in one corner and trying to work out how to sit in a way that would look less friendly and more seductive, then wondered why she felt she needed to try that hard. Gambit had never needed her to before. All the same, she found herself holding her breath as she waited for him to turn away from the bar and make his way back to her. When he did, his eyes met hers for the briefest instant, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

He moved to join her, handed over her drink, and when she took it, for the briefest moment, their fingers brushed, and she felt a palpable electric charge travel between them. She looked up, and could see from his face that he’d felt it, too. His hand lingered on the glass for a touch longer than necessary before he withdrew. He settled onto the couch beside her, closer than he would have if they weren’t where they were tonight, turned himself toward her, but retained the tiniest fraction of space between them. He raised his own glass. “Do you think we should have a toast, or would that be too corny for you?”

“Well, they’re not mutually exclusive,” Purdey said with a smile, raising her own glass. “To us?”

Gambit raised an eyebrow. “Corny and cliché? You’re slipping.”

“And what would you suggest?”

“I was thinking of ‘to the future.’”

“And that’s not a cliché or corny?” Purdey countered.

“You didn’t set much of precedent,” Gambit teased. “What do you say we pool the cliché and the corny and get it all out in one go?”

“I suppose I could accept a flurry of corny clichés,” Purdey mused. “It is you, after all.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Purdey leaned forward, offering her glass. “To us and the future. And a team effort.”

“Cheers.” They clinked glasses and each took a sip, watching one another with interest over the rims of their drinks. Purdey lowered her glass first, eyed him with interest.

“So,” she began, gauging his expression carefully. “What normally happens now?”

Gambit lowered his own glass, and regarded her with mild amusement. “Normally?”

“Yes, normally. I can’t be the first girl who’s sat on this couch and had a drink with you. In fact, I know I’m not.” Purdey settled back more comfortably in the couch. “So, what happens now?”

Gambit smirked. “You make it sound like I have a standard procedure.”

“Don’t you?” Purdey’s eyes betrayed her disbelief.

“Not really,” Gambit contradicted. “I mean, everyone has moves. But it all depends on the girl at the end of the day. Read the signals, see where things go.”

Purdey regarded him with interest. “And if the signals aren’t promising?”

Gambit shrugged. “Take her home, if that’s what she wants. The game’s only fun if both people want to play, and if they don’t, better to call it off.”

“And has that happened often?”

“Well, no,” Gambit admitted, with a small smile. “Usually by the time they’re here, things go the way you’d expect. But it has. Once or twice. And it was the right call. For both of us.”

“And you weren’t disappointed?” 

“I’d be more disappointed if I found out she wasn’t up for it after the fact,” Gambit said frankly. “Besides, it’s not always them. Sometimes it’s me.”

Purdey was really interested now. “And what on earth could possibly possess Mike Gambit to send a girl home and spend the night on his own?” She seemed to consider. “I’d say the imminent apocalypse, but then you’d probably want her there to make your last moments as pleasant as possible.”

“Very funny,” Gambit said wryly, watching his drink as he swirled it around in its glass. “But you’re wrong. There are lots of things, especially post-assignment. Sometimes I think I can tough it out, but I hurt too much, or I’m just too tired, or...” He paused, swallowed. 

Purdey’s expression turned serious. “Yes?”

Gambit’s eyes flicked up to meet hers ever-so-briefly, then returned to the safe neutrality of his drink. “Sometimes,” he tried again, “I can’t get what’s happened in the last few days out of my head, and I’m not really there, so there’s no point in dragging it out.”

“What sort of things?” Purdey asked softly, then elaborated when he stole another quick glance at her. “What can’t you get out of your head?”

Gambit laughed a little, but there was no humour in it. “The time you almost died from curare poisoning stands out,” he said, and she knew she didn’t imagine the tremor in her voice. “The next night I had a date, and I decided not to cancel, but it’s not really fair to the girl when all you can think about when she’s in your arms is about how the day before you were holding another girl while trying to reassure yourself that she still had a pulse. That kills the mood.” He tipped his head back and downed his drink in one go. Purdey watched him and bit her lip in sympathy.

“I don’t remember much about it, to be honest,” she confessed. “And I’m not even sure if what I think I can remember are actual memories, or things you and Steed told me after the fact.”

Gambit shook his head. “Nothing you’d want to remember.”

“I suppose not,” Purdey agreed. “I knew it must have given both you and Steed a fright, but I never thought...I never considered it would stay with you, not like that.” One side of her mouth quirked up in a sad smile. “It explains a lot.”

“Does it?” Gambit’s eyes still had shadows to them, and she could tell he was having difficulty chasing off the memories now that they’d been revived.

“Yes,” Purdey confirmed, drawing her index finger thoughtfully back and forth along the rim of her glass. “I mean, part of the reason I was afraid to be with you was because I knew you could die at any time, on any assignment, and I didn’t think I’d be able to cope if we were together. But you were probably so persistent for the same reason, at least partly. Better to have something happy, something good, to hang onto when the bad comes.” She met his eyes. “I understand that now.”

“I’d figured that much out,” Gambit said wryly, and his smile was a little easier that time. “All the same, we don’t have to do...this...tonight. We’ve already said a lot, done a lot, for one night.”

Purdey laughed. “Mike Gambit, you’ve spent nearly two years trying to talk me into your bed, and now that I’m willing, you seem determined to talk me out of it!”

“You didn’t have my memorial service all planned out in your head before,” Gambit pointed out. “Like I said, that’s got to muck with your head. I want you to be sure, that’s all. It’s not the kind of thing we can take back.”

“I have no intention of taking it back,” Purdey said simply. “And if you’re as good at reading women as you say you are, then you should be able to work that one out for yourself.” Her gaze met his levelly. “Well, Mike Gambit? Can you read me?”

Gambit’s eyes travelled over her face for a moment, and Purdey felt her heart speed up under his gaze. “Good question,” he said finally. “I’ve been trying to unravel the secrets of that wonderful brain of yours since we met, and to be honest I don’t think I’ll ever manage it. I’m not even sure I want to,” he added with a wink. “But I think I know you well, really well, where it counts. And I think this counts.” He leaned forward, set his empty glass on the coffee table, then took hers from her and did the same. “So unless I’ve got it really, really wrong, I think I can do this.” His hand rested very softly, very deliberately, on Purdey’s stocking-clad knee.

It was hardly the most intimate touch she’d ever experienced, but somehow it was more erotic than every other physical pass she’d ever received in the past combined. Gambit’s hand was warm, his fingers strong, moving delicately over her skin, but not gripping, not grabbing, not possessing. He’d shifted a fraction of an inch closer, but he still wasn’t touching her in any other way. They sat for a moment, her gaze riveted on that hand, and pondered everything it could do, would do, and just as importantly, wouldn’t do. When she returned her eyes to his face, his expression was confident, but not cocky; interested, but not out-of-control. He regarded her for a moment more, then leaned in and asked, quietly:

“Did I get it right?”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” she said, doing her best to keep a straight face. “But you could be a little closer to being right.”

Gambit raised an eyebrow. “Really? How about here?” The hand travelled, drifting upward, over her knee and onto her lower thigh.

Purdey let out a very slow, very even breath. “You’re getting warmer,” she managed.

“You’re telling me,” Gambit said with a grin, letting his hand continue to clear a new path while never taking his eyes off her face. His fingers reached the hem of her skirt, but kept on undeterred, pushing the fabric back as he went. Eventually, he reached the end of her stocking, and his palm slid onto bare flesh. Purdey gasped audibly, his touch sending an electrical jolt through her body. How did he do that when he hadn’t even touched her the most intimate way he no doubt knew how?

“Hot?” Gambit hazarded, and she could tell by the way his eyes danced that he was enjoying himself.

“Very warm,” she managed, allowing herself a small smile as well. “You’ll know when you’re hot.”

“I think I’m already there,” Gambit quipped, leaning in for a kiss, and she accepted eagerly, hands bracketing his neck as she let herself lean back, taking him with her. She felt his hand slip from the top of her thigh down to grip the side as she lifted her legs to make room for him on the couch. Her skirt rucked up further, but she was hardly in a position to worry about her modesty just then, more interested in adjusting her position, using her leg to nudge him closer. He pressed against her, and she could feel his chest against hers, feel his heart racing beneath the fine fabric of his shirt. His other hand braced on the arm of the couch above her head, diverting his weight to keep from crushing her beneath him. She opened for him as if it was the most natural thing in the world, allowing him to settle between her legs without a second thought. At this point, she was used to a man expressing a level of impatience to get to the main event, but Gambit seemed to be in no hurry. Both mouth and hand were gentle, undemanding, and she realised he was still worried about hurting her at some level, though she knew better than anyone that he wouldn’t, certainly not intentionally. But there was one thing she realised he ought to know before they went any further.

She didn’t want to break their kiss, but she did so reluctantly, breathing hard, and tried to ignore just how impossibly green his eyes were at that particular moment. “I need to tell you something,” she began, the words coming out a little more serious than she’d intended as she tried to get her breath back. She saw a flash of alarm register in those green eyes, and she had to grab his shoulder to keep him from pulling away.

“What’s wrong?” he said automatically, anxiety written over his features as he searched hers. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she reassured, stroking his hair and smiling away his fears. “More than fine. But I think I ought to tell you something.”

He looked less worried, but more uncertain, and he shifted slightly so he could sit up a bit better and regard her properly. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s...” Purdey bit her lip, feeling mildly embarrassed, but Gambit was listening intently, undeterred. “It’s just that, well, it’s been awhile. For me.” She shrugged and affected a carefree smile. “I may be bit rusty, that’s all.”

Gambit’s expression didn’t change. “How long is ‘awhile’?” he asked carefully, and Purdey felt her embarrassment ratchet up a notch.

“Well, after I broke up with...with Larry.” She hated using his name on a night like this, a night where she was trying to leave the past behind, but this needed to be said. “I was so scared of being hurt again. I couldn’t commit to anyone, but I couldn’t face a one-night stand, either. So I decided to give it a rest, and I...” She shrugged again. “I ended up resting for longer than I intended.”

Gambit was frowning now. “Didn’t you leave Larry in 1970?”

Purdey nodded. “Yes.”

“But...” Gambit seemed to be having difficulty processing the information. He looked as if he was doing the math in his head, and rechecking it over and over to make sure it was right, which he probably was. “But that was seven years ago.”

“Yes,” she repeated.

“And in all that time, you’ve never...” He gestured vaguely at their position. “Not once?”

“I didn’t say things never got hot,” Purdey said, with just a touch of indignation. “They never proceeded from the preliminaries to the main event, that’s all.”

Gambit’s surprise was evident. “That’s...I wasn’t expecting that,” he said frankly. “No offence, Purdey. I never thought you were out every night, but you could have had the pick of anyone in the Ministry alone, and probably just about anywhere else. I thought, every once in awhile the urge would strike and you’d...”

“You thought wrong,” Purdey said, a bit tartly. “Are you going to make a fuss about it?”

“Nooo,” Gambit almost drawled, the incredulity melting away. “But it gives me an idea of how big a step this is.”

“Yes, well.” Purdey fidgeted idly and tried not to meet his eyes. “It’s not exactly the sort of thing you do on a whim.”

“I know.” One corner of Gambit’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “It’s a compliment, really. It means you trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Purdey confirmed, feeling safe to make eye contact again, making sure he knew she was serious. “In every way.”

“And I don’t take it for granted,” Gambit told her, disentangling his hand from her skirt so he could squeeze her hand. “I’m glad you told me.”

Purdey arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Why? Happy to be ending the drought?”

“You said it, not me.” Gambit treated her to a wink, and she laughed in spite of herself. “But it lets me know where I stand. I don’t want to betray your trust, and I definitely don’t want to hurt you.”

Purdey shook her head. “You won’t hurt me. That I’m certain of. And anyway, I have done this before, you know.”

“Right, but it’s been awhile.” Gambit looked mildly reticent. “And I definitely don’t want to hurt you, so let’s take it easy, give each other lots of leeway. Okay?” He actually did look a bit nervous now, and she realised that they both had a lot riding on this encounter, and she didn’t want to make it unpleasant anymore than he did.

“Okay,” she agreed, flashing him a grin to lighten the mood. “Should we shake on it, or have you got some other idea as to how to seal the deal?”

Gambit returned her grin in tone. “One or two,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again. She slid her arms around his neck, opened her mouth against his, was ready to recline once more and take him with her, but he broke away ever-so-slightly. She looked at him as best she could, lips a fraction of an inch from hers. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for a long, long time,” he said in hushed tones.

“What is it?” she whispered back, and Gambit moved his head so his lips were just about touching her ear. He spoke softly, slowly, breathily, the warm air making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Will you come to bed with me, Purdey?”

Purdey grinned as she met his eyes. “Why Mike Gambit, I thought you’d never ask.”


	13. Bright Eyes & Burnt Eggs

Gambit awoke the next morning, still more or less entwined with Purdey. The sun was shining through a small crack in the curtains, casting a thin, yellow line that divided the bed in two, illuminating the otherwise dark room. Gambit cracked one sleepy eye open, took a moment to appreciate his position. Purdey was in his arms, head tucked up against his chest, one hand resting on his ribs, the other pressed between their bodies. He could smell the slightest hint of her shampoo in her hair, just below his chin. For a moment, he didn’t dare move. He was afraid that if he did, everything that had happened the night before would evaporate into nothing, a dream that had never crossed over into reality. And why not? It had taken long enough to happen. But when he did move, ever-so-slightly, afraid of waking her or himself, he wasn’t sure which, and looked down, Purdey was undoubtedly in his arms. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of his momentary distress.

Now that he’d finished torturing himself, he could enjoy her, could savour the glow of her skin, fresh and dewy in the morning. Could marvel at the curve of her shoulders and the fineness of her bone structure, and the way their bodies fit together with remarkably natural ease. And then she was stirring, head tipping back as she breathed deep and stretched, and Gambit could feel every one of her finely-toned muscles snap to attention. It was only then that she opened one bright blue eye and blinked as it was met with a sliver of sunshine.

“Morning,” Gambit greeted her bleary visage.

“Morning yourself,” Purdey mumbled cheerfully, opening the other eye and blinking the sleep out of both. “You’re very happy. What are you smiling about?”

Gambit’s grin broadened. “Do you really need to ask?” 

Purdey let her head loll back onto her pillow. “Mike Gambit, despite what you may think, sleeping with you has not miraculously granted me a window into your mind. And anyway, it’s too early for telepathy.”

“I’m happy to see you, that’s all,” Gambit told her, brushing a bit of her fringe out of her eyes. “For all I knew, last night could have been a very vivid, very good dream.” 

Purdey grinned wickedly. “I could have stolen away in the night and left you wondering if it was.”

Gambit wagged a finger at her in mock rebuke. “Shouldn’t have overslept, Purdey-girl. You missed your chance.”

Purdey snickered. “I’m sure I’ll manage somehow. Although if you’d asked me six months ago what I thought this would be like...” She shrugged. “Well, you can imagine.”

“Oh, so you’re not telepathic, but I’m supposed to be tuned right into your wavelength?”

“You had no problem finding it last night,” Purdey quipped, and at Gambit’s proud grin, continued, “It’s just that I thought, if this ever happened, it might feel…odd. I mean, we’ve known each other for so long, worked together. It could have been terribly awkward. But this—“ She waved back and forth between them. “It feels normal. Ridiculously normal.”

Gambit’s expression was mildly incredulous. “So you’re saying you feel strange because nothing feels strange?”

Purdey considered. “Yes,” she decided.

Gambit shook his head and smiled. “Well, your logic hasn’t changed a bit. I don’t see why anything else should.”

Purdey sighed. “I suppose,” she conceded. “I thought it would be…I don’t know, harder somehow. A fly in the ointment. Some sort of obstacle to us being happy or enjoying this.” She regarded him pointedly. “Other than the obvious flaws in your personality, of course.”

Gambit looked heavenward as though seeking strength from a higher power. “You know, there are lots of girls who wouldn’t go to bed with me just so they could insult me in the morning.”

“Ah, but that’s what makes me so special,” Purdey replied cheekily. 

“Along with your modesty, of course.” Gambit shook his head and propped himself up on one elbow. “Seriously though, Purdey, aren’t we due a little smooth sailing? I think we’ve had more than our share of obstacles.” He paused, then added, “Although they did a very good job of building up anticipation, so I try to think of them as ‘foreplay.’” He treated her with a saucy wink.

“Mike Gambit!” Purdey gave him a gentle shove, and he wobbled but quite annoyingly refused to topple backwards onto the mattress. “That’s maddeningly positive of you, and you’re the one who’s supposed to be the leader in negative thinking, not me.” She watched as he recovered himself and moved closer, resting a warm, comforting hand against her stomach. “And if that wasn’t infuriating enough, you’re also right.” 

Gambit’s eyebrows climbed upwards. “You must still be on a high from last night if you’re willing to admit that!”

Purdey tsked. “It was only a matter of time. It’s true—we’ve had a very long road to get here. Especially given the past week…”

“Yes,” Gambit agreed, rolling onto his front and leaning over her so he could look down into her eyes. “But we made it, and that’s all that matters.”

Purdey reached up and rested her palm against his cheek. “Yes. And you’re here,” she said softly. “You’re really here, and you so easily couldn’t have been.”

Gambit covered her hand with his. “I’m here,” he confirmed. “You know I can’t promise what will happen in the future, not with our jobs. But I can promise you right here, right now, that I’m not going anywhere, and I damn well am going to do my best to make sure I don’t go anywhere for as long as I can.” He smiled a little crookedly at her. “Or as long as you want me.”

“Mike Gambit,” Purdey said tenderly softly, looking up into those eyes she’d been so convinced a few days ago she would never see again. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Gambit’s eyes lit up endearingly. “That’ll keep me warm on a lot of cold nights,” he murmured, moving her hand so he could kiss the palm.

“Not any time soon, I hope,” Purdey chuckled. “Because I think the bed’s suitably warm at the moment.”

“Definitely not now,” Gambit agreed, bending his head so his lips touched hers. “You’re keeping me plenty warm. And I want you to stay.” And then he kissed her.

She deepened the kiss, and they changed position, her rolling onto her back, him moving above her, so she could tangle her hands in his hair, and feel the beat of this heart against her chest. It all seemed so easy now, when she wasn’t trying to convince herself not to feel this way, that this was a horrible idea and doomed for failure. Now all she could see were the good things, the hope. This was Gambit, and she loved him. She didn’t want to push him away. She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to stay curled up behind her defences. She just wanted him, and everything he made her feel, and to make him as happy as he made her. It was so simple, so easy. Why hadn’t she done it earlier?

“Stay?” she gasped when they came up for air.

“Stay,” he repeated, hands pressed into the mattress on either side of her head, eyes shining.

Purdey stroked his hair. “Ah, but for how long?” 

“The morning. The day. The week. The year. Forever.” He trailed kisses down her neck. “As long as you want. But stay. Please.”

“Forever?” Purdey teased. “I may have to leave once or twice for provisions.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. And I appreciate the sentiment. But I think I’ll start with today, this morning. And do you know how I’d like to start the day?”

“However you like,” Gambit declared. “Although I’d like to play a part if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Purdey said coyly. “You can help me satisfy my appetite.”

Gambit arched an eyebrow. “Again? Purdey, you’re insatiable.”

“Not that!” Purdey exclaimed with a laugh, gently swatting his arm. “Breakfast! I meant I want breakfast. I’m absolutely famished.”

“Worked up an appetite, did you?” Gambit said with a wink.

“Do you know, if you’re going to keep up like this, I might have to eat on my own.”

“You’ve been doing that for too long,” Gambit pointed out. “Besides, once you start having breakfast with me, it’ll get hard to stop.”

“Someone has a high opinion of himself.”

“Judging from last night, I’m not the only one.”

“Oh!” Purdey scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue at him. “Get up. I want food, and I want it before noon.”

Gambit rolled off onto his side so Purdey could sit up, the sheet sliding down her body as she did so. She remembered her lack of clothes, and glanced around vaguely. “I’ll need something to wear,” she declared.

Gambit propped himself up on one elbow, enjoying the view. “I don’t see why. My flat doesn’t have a dress code.”

Purdey caught his look and shot him one of her own, though she felt no need to cover herself. “You would say that. You’ll be whistling a different tune when I catch cold.”

“I’ll be happy to warm you up again if you do.”

“I’m sure you will. But right now, I need something to wear.” She jerked her head toward the door. “You must have something.”

“Yes,” Gambit confirmed, sitting up and leaning in close. “But you can’t honestly expect me to willingly leave a bed with you in it, can you?”

Purdey smiled in spite of herself, leaned in close herself so she could brush her lips against his. “So if I left, would you follow?”

“To the ends of the earth,” Gambit confirmed, before his lips met hers in a kiss. Purdey ran a hand through his hair, and kissed back, and they stayed that way for a moment. Then her stomach gurgled, ruining the mood. Gambit broke the kiss with a sigh.

“Right. Breakfast.”

“Yes. Breakfast,” Purdey agreed, throwing back the covers and dangling her legs over the edge of the bed, striding over to where Gambit’s discarded clothes were draped over a chair. She cast a glance over her shoulder and saw that Gambit was watching her with a very pleased expression.

“Now I see why you wanted me to go first,” she said wryly, shrugging on his shirt. “You wanted to enjoy the view.”

“You’re not exactly keeping your eyes front,” Gambit pointed out, then ducked when Purdey threw his trousers at him. 

“Yes, but I’m a woman. I’m allowed to indulge.”

Gambit climbed reluctantly out of bed and grabbed the offending garment. “Who made up those rules?” 

“It’s common knowledge,” Purdey defended, allowing her eyes to wander over his body.

Gambit regarded her knowingly. “Take a good look, why don’t you?”

“Oh, I have,” Purdey said with a seductive smile, voice dropping an octave. She moved toward him slowly, doing up the buttons as she went. “I have.”

Gambit watched her, trousers clutched in numb fingers. “Hadn’t you better put those on?” she inquired when she reached him, nodding at the garment. “You’ll catch your death wandering around like that.” Her fingers skimmed over the hollow of his throat, then down his chest, stopping just short of his pelvis. “And wouldn’t that be a shame?”

“Yes,” Gambit agreed, eyes glittering. “Except if you’re willing to nurse me back to health.”

Purdey blew a raspberry and turned on her heel, leaving him to go about (half-) dressing himself. “Breakfast. The quality of your jokes is falling faster than my blood sugar.”

“So that’s why you always think I’m funnier after dinner,” Gambit observed, quickly tugging on the trousers so he could catch up to her.

“I’d say it’s more likely the wine,” Purdey shot back.

They strolled past his closet and into the living area, making a beeline for the kitchen. Gambit, realising as host that providing breakfast was really his responsibility, opened his fridge and surveyed the contents with an appraising eye. “Not sure how much I have,” he told Purdey, as she rested her chin on his shoulder and took in the contents for herself. “Haven’t had time to restock since I got back.” He did a quick inventory. “I’ve got eggs, a little left over bacon, but not really enough for both of us. Bit of cheese.” He shot her an apologetic smile. “I usually have cornflakes, so its slim pickings.”

“Not at all. It’s right there in front of your nose,” Purdey said matter-of-factly, and Gambit regarded her in bemusement. “Eggs, cheese, bacon. Pepper. And look, a few mushrooms.” She regarded Gambit as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Don’t you see? An omelette.”

“Of course,” Gambit said wryly. “It’s obvious. Why didn’t I see it before?”

“Because you have no imagination,” Purdey said lightly, shouldering past him and beginning to gather up the ingredients. “If you’re very, very lucky, I might spot some sort of extra seasoning as well, although knowing your fridge I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“I’m the host,” Gambit pointed out, taking the bacon she thrust unseeingly into his hands. “Shouldn’t I do the cooking for you?”

“Possibly,” Purdey agreed, turning around, arms overflowing with food. “But I’m very particular about my omelettes, and I’m not sure you’re up to the task.” She smiled coyly. “Unlike in other areas.”

Gambit grinned back. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Good.” Purdey leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. “If you really want to help, you can start frying that.” She nodded at the bacon. 

“Deal,” Gambit agreed, as Purdey moved off to deposit her burden on the counter. “After I start making the coffee.”

“And the tea,” Purdey added pointedly

“Of course,” Gambit said with a smile. “The coffee and the tea.” He rummaged in one of his cupboards. “I should have some of the stash you gave me.”

“I’m almost out of your coffee at mine,” Purdey confided, starting on the mushrooms with a kitchen knife she’d purloined from the drawer, and dicing expertly. “It probably says something about our relationship that our coffee beans and tea leaves have been sleeping together longer than we have,” she added wryly.

“Can’t imagine what,” Gambit replied, finding the tea and moving to fill the kettle and plug it in, then turning to the percolator. He was interrupted by the sound of birdsong near the sink. He glanced out the window to find a little sparrow merrily bopping back and forth on the windowsill above the sink. “Look who let us sleep in,” Gambit said with a grin, bending to retrieve the jar of birdseed from one of the lower cupboards. “I didn’t know the little bugger had it in him.” He opened the window, but the sparrow didn’t budge, standing its ground as he tapped a healthy measure of seed onto the sill. “Charlie, meet Purdey,” he told the bird, as it happily bopped over to peck at its breakfast. “She’s going to be joining us for a lot more breakfasts if I get my way, so you’d better get used to the competition.”

“We’ve met,” Purdey informed, eyes fond as she took in the bird. “I found him sleeping off the S-95 gas on your counter on that very eventful Sunday morning we had.”

“Oh, that,” Gambit said unenthusiastically. “I wondered why he wasn’t where I left him. Took him two days to recover, you know. Too much for his system.”

“And you nursed him back to health?” Purdey inquired, retrieving a grater from the cupboard and setting to work on the cheese.

“Healing hands, remember?” Gambit said with a wink, flexing strong fingers.

“Yes, well, as endearing as it is to know that you spent two days at a sparrow’s bedside, I’d be happier if you’d put those hands to work and fry something.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Gambit threw her a cocky salute, finding a pan and setting to work on the bacon. It was only once the pan was hot and the meat was cracking merrily that he ventured, “While we’re here, we should probably get a few things straightened out.”

Purdey arched one perfectly tended eyebrow. “Such as?” she inquired, proceeding to break the eggs into a mixing bowl stolen from one of Gambit’s cupboards. Gambit didn’t comment on her seemingly-psychic ability to locate everything she needed without difficulty—it was Purdey, after all.

“Well, whether or not we’re going to tell anyone about this for a start,” Gambit began, prodding the bacon but monitoring Purdey’s expression out of the corner of his eye.

“I’d rather we didn’t,” Purdey admitted, whisking the eggs with a fork.

It was Gambit’s turn to arch an eyebrow. “Why? Are you ashamed of me?”

“No!” Purdey exclaimed, head whipping up, eyes wide. She stopped whisking and laid a hand on his forearm. “No, please, don’t say that, not even in jest. I don’t want you to think I regret this. Regret you.” 

Gambit’s expression was expectant, but not unkind. “But?”

“But,” Purdey sighed. “You know how my last serious relationship ended. And while I certainly don’t think you’re going to turn in a repeat performance, I don’t want anything interfering with this, with us, while we try to figure things out. I want this to be ours, Mike. I don’t want anyone telling us what we can or can’t do. I don’t want the Ministry splitting us up, or my mother asking for a wedding.” She took a deep, cleansing breath, and let it out slowly. “I just want you, Mike. Just you. And you’re the only person whose opinion I care about at this point.”

Gambit smiled kindly, covered the hand on top of hers on his arm. “I understand,” he told her.

Purdey arched an eyebrow. “Really? Because I rather thought you’d want to exercise your bragging rights.”

Gambit pulled a face. “Come on, Purdey. Give me a little credit. This was always about us, not a notch in the bedpost to boast about down the pub.”

“And you wouldn’t mind bragging at all?” Purdey pressed, eyes dancing.

“Well, it would be fun to see Larry’s face,” Gambit allowed with a wink, referring to their colleague and one-time victim of the brain-draining machine, a man definitely not among the ranks of Gambit’s favourite people. “But I don’t need it. This is about us, and all I need to enjoy this relationship is you.” He leaned in close and whispered, “Just you.”

Purdey smiled warmly, gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you for understanding.” 

“But it doesn’t mean we’ll be able to keep it secret forever,” Gambit warned. “Someone’ll figure it out eventually. Probably Steed.” He glanced around idly as though he expected to see the man himself. “He’s probably figured it out already, just intuited it from the aura of the universe.”

“He’s vibrating as we speak.” Purdey grinned as she poured the egg into a pan of her own. “Steed will be difficult to fool for long,” she agreed. “But even he won’t work it out right away, and even when he does, he won’t say anything, not for awhile. He’ll think on it and drop subtle little hints until we break down and tell him.”

“Devious,” Gambit opined as Purdey returned to her whisking. “Sounds like Steed, then.”

“While we’re on the topic of the Ministry,” she began. “If we’re going to be in a relationship, have you given any thought as to how it will affect our work? I mean, we’ll be involved, so it will be harder to be impartial, and if something happens to one of us…” She trailed off, thinking of the past week, and decided that she wasn’t up to resurrecting that particular ghost at that moment. “And not only that, we’ll be seeing an awful lot of one another. And don’t say one of your corny jokes about enjoying seeing more of me.” 

“Spoilsport,” Gambit retorted. “But if you really think about it, we spend a lot of time together off-duty as it is. We’ve gone on loads of dates. We never called them that, but dinner and dancing seems like a date night out to me. Or we just hang about the flat and play Scrabble. The way I see it, we’ll spend the same amount of time together and just sleep together more, which I’m completely in favour of, by the way.”

“I’m sure you are,” Purdey said with a laugh, then admitted, “I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”

“You haven’t been looking at it as taking what you can get,” Gambit said mildly. “But I counted myself lucky to get every Purdey evening I could, even if I knew I was going to drop you at the door with a peck on the check at the most. It was always worth it, because I got to be with you. As long as I still get to do that, I’m happy.”

Purdey felt herself melt. “Mike…” 

“Don’t cry,” Gambit said gently, brushing tear from her cheek. “It’s not worth it, not now. But I don’t think I’ll get sick of you, and so as long as you don’t get sick of me, I think we’ll be fine.”

Purdey sniffed. “Well, I seem to have tolerated you so far.” 

Gambit chuckled, not taking offense. “And as for the Ministry, well, they know people fraternise all the time and don’t do anything about it, so I can’t see why they would now.”

“You have a point,” Purdey acknowledged, prodding at the egg.

Gambit’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “Did you just admit I’m right for the second time in one day? If I’d known all I’d have to do is go to bed with you once to make that happen, I’d have tried harder.”

“Mike.” Purdey gave him a mock-nudge in the side. “You do beat all sometimes.”

“I hope I do, at least where you’re concerned,” Gambit murmured, resting a hand on her waist and nuzzling her neck.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve come to an agreement on that front,” Purdey murmured back, turning her head so his lips brushed against her cheek. “I’m not changing my mind. I can promise you that.”

“I know,” Gambit whispered, lifting his head slightly so he could kiss her hair. “And you have no idea how happy I am.”

“I think I might have an idea,” Purdey said with a smile, turning away from the stove so she could slide her arms around his neck. “If it’s anything like the way I feel, I think we’re from the same page.”

“The best page,” Gambit murmured, lightly kissing her lips. “Of the best book.” He kissed her again, and she kissed back, and they lost themselves in one another, him gently pressing her between the kitchen counter and his body, her tangling her hands in his hair.

They carried on that way for a minute or two. Then it suddenly occurred to Purdey that she was forgetting something just as Gambit shifting his hips a little tighter against her. She tore her mouth away as realisation set in and smoke reached her nose. “It’s burning.”

“Of course it is,” Gambit quipped, too distracted by her to notice the imminent problem. “It’s near you.”

“No, the omelette!” Purdey cried, breaking away and pulling the pan off the cooktop. She grabbed a spatula and lifted it tentatively, hissed at what she saw. “Damn! I burned it. And you’re out of eggs. I can’t make more.”

Gambit regarded it with a touch more equanimity. “That half’s not too bad,” he pointed out, indicating one side of the dish. “You have that and I’ll take the burnt bits.”

“There weren’t meant to be any burnt bits,” Purdey grumbled. “I wanted it to be perfect, because it’s our first morning together, not serve you burnt egg.”

“Purdey,” Gambit said matter-of-factly. “The fact that you’re here to cook it at all makes it perfect. I don’t care if the damn thing’s a charcoal briquette. I’m eating it and I’ll enjoy it because you cooked it in my kitchen wearing my shirt.” His eyebrows waggled at her wickedly. “And if you eat it with me wearing the same, that’s one better.”

Purdey laughed in spite of herself. “I’ll say this for you, Mike Gambit. You’re very easy to please.” She stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss. “Now make me that tea you promised, and I’ll see what I can scrape off the pan.”

VVVV

They settled down on the couch at Gambit’s glass-topped coffee table with the burnt omelette split between them, Purdey with her tea and Gambit with his coffee, and regarded each other with ghosts of smiles between bits of crispy egg. “Do you often have breakfast with the girls you sleep with?” Purdey inquired cheerfully after a moment. “Or am I an exception?”

Gambit, who was in the middle of a sip of coffee, promptly choked on it, and it took a few moments for him to recover. “What?” he croaked, when the worst of the coughing was finished.

“Girls. Breakfast,” Purdey repeated blithely, cutting a piece of egg off the omelette, and popping it into her mouth.

“Is this really what you want to talk about over breakfast?” Gambit asked sceptically. “The history of my love life? Are you trying to make yourself jealous, or are you just looking for ammunition to use against me later?”

“No,” Purdey said crisply. “Just curious. I’d like to know your modus operandi. If you have one.” She eyed him secretively. “And I’ve a feeling you do.”

Gambit returned her gaze, shrugged. If that was how she wanted to play it… “Depends on the girl,” he said frankly. “Sometimes she’d leave that night. Sometimes one of us had to rush off to work in the morning, and couldn’t linger. Sometimes it was just coffee. Sometimes we’d go out for breakfast. Sometimes we were at her place. Once or twice we’d eat here. But not usually. Not often. Not enough time.”

Purdey nodded thoughtfully, as those he’d been expecting this. “I didn’t think you shared your cornflakes very often,” she quipped. “The boxes always lasted too long for two people to be eating them.”

“I would have sprung for more than cornflakes,” Gambit said wryly.

“Mmm. Beans on toast, then.”

“I can actually cook, you know.”

“Now that I would like to see.”

“You could. It’s just that I’m very good at getting you to volunteer.” Gambit treated her to a saucy wink.

Purdey grinned in spite of herself, and returned to her task of dissecting her omelette. “It is strange, though.”

“What, my secret culinary skills?”

“No, the fact that I’ve never caught you with a woman in your flat,” Purdey clarified. “I mean, you have been with women since I met you, haven’t you?” 

Gambit, much to her amusement, looked rather embarrassed. “Er, well, yes.”

“Then why haven’t I ever seen them?” Purdey pressed. “I mean, I’ve seen you flirt, and I’ve heard the rumours, and you’ve told me you have dates and there’s the little black book, but there was never a girl here when I dropped in unannounced. There’s never anything feminine lying around your flat or in your car.”

“They’re all very good at picking up after themselves,” Gambit offered with a shrug.

“Yes, but it still seems strange. I mean, I always thought you’d turn up reeking of sex one day, and I’d just know you’d been with someone.”

“Lipstick on my collar?”

“Or similar,” Purdey agreed. “No matter how cliché. But I never heard from them, never saw them. There was never so much as a telling phone call.” She paused and took a reflective sip of tea. “I suppose in a way, to me, they didn’t exist. Because I was the only woman in your life that I knew of.” She cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. “I suppose I thought I was special.”

“You are special,” Gambit put in gently, and Purdey gave him a quick, tight smile. 

“Yes, but not in every way. I thought I knew you better than anyone ever could, and then there was that day you turned up in Paris with Dr. LeParge, and I—well, there she was. Clear as day. And it wasn’t as though I could ignore her or delude myself as to why she was there. And I suddenly realised that when you left Paris, probably never to see her again, she would still have the advantage on me, because she would know what it was like to kiss you, properly. What you were like in bed. Not your prowess, but just—who you were. She knew a whole side of you, and I was never going to see it, because I was too scared.” Her expression was reflective, but her voice took on a note of bitter self-recrimination.

“Do you think,” Gambit began carefully, “that it’s not coincidence you never saw any of the girls? Maybe you subconsciously steered clear of my flat if you thought I might be with someone?” 

Purdey shrugged. “Possibly,” she admitted. “To protect my ego, perhaps, though admitting it will only inflate yours, I’m sure. And I couldn’t even blame anyone for it, because it was my choice. You always let it be my choice. But I realised you weren’t just mine after all.” She met his eyes. “There was always competition.”

“Not anymore there isn’t,” Gambit declared, rising and moving to a kitchen drawer, removing something from it, then returning to her. “Because I’m going to be an optimist and believe I won’t need this anymore.” He handed her something. It was small, dark, and rectangular.

“Your little black book?” Purdey said in surprise. “You’ve always guarded it with your life. Why are you giving it to me?”

“A gesture,” Gambit said simply, settling back into his seat. “Showing you I’m serious, in case that was in any doubt.”

Purdey turned the volume over in her hands, but refrained from opening it. “What should I do with it?” she mused.

Gambit shrugged. “It’s your choice. Burn it. Shred it. Read it if you have to, though it’s probably not filled with the kind of stuff you imagine.”

Purdey arched an interested eyebrow. “Really?”

Gambit grinned. “Really. I know how your mind works, and I haven’t totally degenerated, no matter what you say. All I ask is that you don’t ring them up in the middle of the night or drop by their flats or something. They’re all nice girls, and I don’t want any of them to get hurt, even unintentionally.”

“As if I would,” Purdey scoffed. “Anyway, you’re just worried I’m going to uncover all sorts of compromising stories about you. We might start a club.” She bent the book slightly, and let the pages flick by rapidly as she released them from beneath her thumb. “But if they’re all such nice girls, you’ve gone against type with me.”

Gambit looked her up and down. “I don’t know. You look nice to me.”

“That’s because you’ve always been a bit deluded.” Purdey set the book aside. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need this to prove your fidelity or loyalty, or whatever, to me, and I’m surprisingly uninterested in who they are. You can keep the book.” She leaned in and rested her hands on either side of his face. “Having Mike Gambit is enough for me.”

Gambit smiled. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss. “Now finish your omelette. It’s getting cold.”


	14. Phone Calls & Further Plans

“Leave the washing up and come here.”

Purdey reached out to Gambit from where she was curled up on the couch, hand outstretched, open and inviting. She’d elected to stay there after they finished breakfast, leaving Gambit to clear things away. Gambit smiled and went to her, took the hand and settled onto the couch beside her. “What do you want to do today?”

Purdey looked heavenward and bit her lip as she pondered. “There are so many options,” she said lazily. “We could go out for lunch.”

“We could,” Gambit agreed, kissing her palm.

“Then for a walk in Hyde Park.” 

“If you like.” Gambit turned her hand over and kissed her knuckles.

“Take in a matinee. Then dinner. Then dancing.”

“I’m with you.” Gambit gave her wrist the same treatment.

“Or,” Purdey said finally. “We could stay in and enjoy ourselves.”

Gambit’s eyes were dancing. “I’m nothing if not flexible.”

Purdey grinned. “I think you ought to prove that,” she purred leaning in close. “Right now.”

Purdey met Gambit’s lips in a kiss, and her arms circled automatically around his neck as his slid around her waist. They carried on slowly, leisurely, enjoying one another in the warm morning light, before Purdey began to lean back, taking Gambit with her. The pair of them stretched out the length of the couch, Purdey making space for Gambit by wrapping her legs round his waist, even as the kisses grew more heated. Purdey’s hands trailed into his hair as she felt him better the fit between their bodies, even as one of his hands left her waist to run along the line of her jaw, then down and over her clavicle. “Looking for something?” she teased, breaking away momentarily.

“Found something,” Gambit clarified, pressing a kiss to the skin he’d just touched. “How attached are you to this shirt?”

“It depends on you. It’s your shirt,” Purdey pointed out.

“Somehow that’s hard to remember when you’re wearing it,” Gambit admitted, fiddling with a button.

“All the same, if you were to take it back, I wouldn’t object,” Purdey said lightly, eyes dancing.

“Really?” Gambit said with interest. “I’ll remember that.” And then he undid one of the buttons.

Purdey let out a contented sigh as Gambit pressed a kiss to the newly-exposed flesh, then another as he undid a second button and repeated the same. She could feel Gambit’s fingers delicately trace their way down the space between the two halves of the shirt, and shuddered with pleasure. One of her hands trailed out of Gambit’s hair, down his neck, and onto his back, fingers dancing lightly over skin and muscle. Gambit made a noise in the back of his throat that sent a jolt through her, and returned his mouth to hers, then roamed over her jaw.

“Sorry,” he breathed against her cheek when his stubble scraped her flesh. “I haven’t had a chance to shave.”

“It’s all right,” Purdey gasped, the burning trail he left behind mixing exquisitely with the other sensations coursing through her. “It really, really is.”

“Oh, yes?” Gambit said with interest, a small smile stretching his lips.

“Yes,” Purdey confirmed. “Now get back here.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Gambit confirmed and obliged, sinking his mouth into hers. He was just about to work on the third button when—

The phone rang.

“The machine’ll get it,” Gambit whispered against Purdey’s mouth, unwilling to break their kiss.

“Mmm,” was Purdey’s only response as she carried on, hands shifting in his hair.

The phone rang again.

Gambit made an annoyed sound but refused to be deterred, pushing Purdey’s shirt ever-so-slightly to the side.

A third ring.

“I think you need a new machine,” Purdey observed as she broke away to kiss his shoulder.

“It’ll kick in. Any second now,” Gambit defended, closing his eyes against the sensation of Purdey’s lips against his skin.

A fourth ring sounded.

Purdey sighed and let her head fall back, looked up at Gambit expectantly. “I think British Telecom has spoken.”

Gambit shook his head forlornly. “Can’t we just keep on…?”

Ring number five.

“I don’t think your machine’s turned on,” Purdey surmised. “And anyway, you should probably answer it. It might be important.”

Gambit pulled a face. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Sixth.

“Oh, go on,” Purdey ordered, giving his shoulder a nudge. “It’s driving me mad.”

Gambit looked at her, the most beautiful woman in the world, whom he loved with all his heart, laid out beneath him wearing his half-unbuttoned shirt. Sometimes life was truly unfair.

“The world better be ending,” he said gruffly, then reached over Purdey’s head and lifted the receiver of the phone on the side table halfway through its seventh ring. “Gambit.”

“Ah, there you are,” a cheery voice greeted. “I was about to give up and try again later.”

“Steed,” Gambit identified, and Purdey immediately waved her hands and mouthed, ‘I’m not here.’ “That would have been a shame.”

“I’m sorry. Were you busy?”

“Shower,” Gambit lied. “What do you need?”

“Well, I was wondering if you might know where Purdey is?”

Gambit looked down at Purdey, wondered what Steed would have to say if he told him the truth. “Purdey?”

“Yes, I rang her just before you and she’s not answering. Given the time of day and the week she’s had, I would have thought she’d be at home.”

“You must have just missed her,” Gambit said, already spinning a scenario in his head that hopefully wouldn’t make Steed suspicious. Purdey, who had heard her name mentioned and perked up immediately, pushed herself upright so that they were eye-to-eye, watching the wheels turn as he thought up a plan. “She said if I ever wanted her to forgive me for all I put her through this week, I had better start this morning by buying her breakfast. Knowing her, it’ll probably stretch into lunch and dinner, too.” Gambit winked at her, and Purdey wrinkled her nose in mock annoyance, but Steed’s laugh didn’t sound feigned, so he must have believed it. They were safe. For now.

“That does sound like Purdey,” he agreed. “But you may have to save that plan for another day. I’m afraid there are things to be done.”

Gambit sagged visibly. “Like what?”

“McKay’s rather insistent that you be debriefed today, and I’m inclined to agree because George can’t be properly exonerated until you have. You’ll need to detail what exactly transpired while you were in Smith’s custody, as well as how he was disarmed by Purdey. Purdey will need to describe the effects of the drug and how she managed to break her conditioning, as well as any side-effects. While she’s at it, she ought to retract her statement from your file so that we can return you to the land of the living, and put you back on active duty. I’ve only just managed to save it from being destroyed.”

“Thanks,” Gambit said, a hopeful thought occurring to him. “Does that mean you won’t need us all day?”

“I won’t, but the Ministry has other plans,” Steed informed. “They want to squeeze you into the last round of the training course this afternoon, so you can finish the run I so rudely interrupted at the start of this ordeal.”

“Oh.” Gambit’s shoulders sagged once more. “Right.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve convinced them to give both of you tomorrow off,” Steed told him, trying to offer some measure of comfort.

Gambit smiled slightly. “Thanks, Steed,” he said a little more genuinely. “What time do they need us?”

“Around eleven,” Steed replied. “That gives you an hour to sort things out. I’d better leave you to it. You will tell Purdey when you see her?”

Gambit met Purdey’s eyes. “Yeah, I’ll tell her.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Steed.”

“Good-bye.”

The senior agent rang off, and Gambit leaned forward to return the phone to its cradle, then looked at Purdey. “You heard?” he surmised, given how close she’d been to the receiver for most of the call.

She nodded. “Duty calls,” she observed.

“Wish it didn’t,” Gambit said with a sigh, letting his head tip forward until his forehead just touched hers. “Sometimes I hate this job.”

“Negative thinking, Gambit,” Purdey chastised gently.

Gambit smiled slightly. “Give me something positive to hold onto,” he recited, following the well-worn script.

“Well, if you didn’t have this job, we never would have met,” Purdey pointed out, with relentless logic. “And if we hadn’t met, I’d have gone through life without meeting Mike Gambit. And that would have been tragic.” She grinned. “Wouldn’t it?”

Gambit grinned back. “Definitely. But it still doesn’t make it any easier when you leave, and I have to go through the morning without Purdey.”

“You’ll survive somehow.”

“You’re sure we can’t make a run for it instead?” Gambit took her hand in his, gently massaged the fingers. “We could flee the country, change our names. Go somewhere sunny where we could lie on a beach all day.”

“You burn,” Purdey pointed out.

“You can be on sunblock duty.” Gambit brought the hand to his lips, kissed her fingers.

“If I know you, that’s when you’ll decide to go for an all-over tan,” Purdey mused wryly, though she couldn’t resist smiling when Gambit’s lips went down her fingers and onto her palm.

“No point in holding back. May as well take advantage of the weather while I’m there.” He looked up from behind her hand and waggled his eyebrows at her.

Purdey laughed in spite of herself. “As lovely as the idea of you sunburning in some awkward places may be, I think we ought to stay where I know I won’t have to slather you in calamine lotion at the end of the day.”

“You’re no fun at all,” Gambit teased, squeezing her hand before he lowered it. “But really, do you have to go? We have ‘til eleven. It’s a little less than an hour.”

“I have to go home and change first,” Purdey reminded. “Make myself presentable. I don’t have the things I need to do that here.”

“We’ll have to fix that,” Gambit opined, watching her open her hand and entwine her fingers with his. “But I thought we’d—I thought we’d have the day, at least. To let this all sink in.”

Purdey looked down at his hand, them up at him. “I know,” she said softly. “So do I. But we’ll have tomorrow, and more importantly, I have you, and you’re alive, and that’s more than enough to ask the universe for just now. So I’ll take my lumps even if it means leaving here.” She leaned in and kissed him gently, tenderly. “But now, I need to go change.” She gently disentangled herself from him, rose and cast a coquettish look over her shoulder. “You’re welcome to come along and supervise, though.”

Gambit perked up instantly, much to her amusement, left the couch to follow her, two pairs of bare feet padding in tandem as they made for the bedroom. 

VVVV

Purdey could feel Gambit’s eyes on her, even with her back to him, as she unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide off her shoulders and onto the floor. It still amazed her how unselfconscious she was about her body in front of him. She’d expected to feel a little awkward at the very least, but somehow Gambit’s gaze was never evaluative, never judgmental, just appreciative, as though he were savouring every curve and contour. So it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to be lying on the bed, head propped up with one hand, while she started to dress.

“I never thought I’d see you so enraptured by a woman putting her clothes _on_ ,” she quipped, glancing at him over her shoulder as she fastened the clip on her bra.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Gambit said with a smile, eyes heavy-lidded and voice the same smooth, deep purr she’d heard last night, the one that sent a shiver through her body. “You’re sure you have to go in this early?”

Purdey looked up from sliding on one of her stockings. “From what I heard, Steed was very insistent.”

“Not that insistent,” Gambit protested mildly, watching her attach her left stocking to her suspender belt with great interest.

“Mike,” she chastised gently, retrieving the other stocking from the floor and repeating the action.

“That’s my name,” came the reply, and Purdey shook her head in mild amusement. “I’d say don’t wear it out, but that’s not something I’m too worried about.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised,” Purdey replied, grabbing her dress and stepping into it. “But if we don’t want to make Steed, or anyone else, suspicious, I have to go.” She slipped her arms into the sleeves, then set about doing up the buttons on the cuffs. There was also a zipper at the back, and she settled onto the edge of the bed, smiling at him over her shoulder. “Would you do the honours?”

He sat up without having to be asked twice, fingers ghosting along the curve of her back as he did so, then wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, shapely hands resting on her stomach. Purdey sighed and leaned back against him. “You’re not making this any easier,” she opined.

“I’m not trying to,” Gambit admitted, pressing his lips against her neck. “If you did stay, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Well, imminent unemployment comes to mind,” Purdey pointed out, turning her head to meet Gambit’s eyes, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“I’d take you over the job any day,” he murmured.

Purdey arched an eyebrow. “Oh yes? And then what would you do? Go back to crashing cars?”

Gambit made a moue as he considered. “I could, but I probably wouldn’t be much good to you in a coma.”

“Who could tell the difference?”

“Very funny.” Gambit shot her a look. “I could always reenlist in the army, I suppose.”

“Do you think they’d have you?”

“Probably not,” Gambit admitted cheerfully. “And anyway, I’d have to smuggle you onto the base for conjugal visits.”

She arched her eyebrow. “Are those your only options?”

“You know my skill set. Any ideas?”

She bit her lip in thought. “I suppose there are only so many jobs that require the ability to maim people.”

“Your confidence in me is touching.”

“It’s not my fault your resume’s a bit unbalanced,” Purdey said brightly. “But I think you’re better off sticking to what you know.” She stroked his cheek, the morning stubble rough against her palm. “And so am I, so I have to be the responsible one and go.”

Gambit sighed. “Why do you have to be the responsible one?”

“I don’t know,” Purdey said with a smirk. “Why do I?”

“Because you don’t do any favours for my self-discipline,” Gambit pointed out with a smile. He tenderly traced the outline of her jaw. “But then you’ve probably worked that out on your own.”

“I might have,” Purdey said knowingly, shifting on the bed so she was kneeling facing him. “And it’s not as though I want to leave.”

Gambit’s nuzzled her hair. “No?”

“No.” And to prove her point, she drew him into a long kiss. Gambit responded in kind, hand curling around the back of her head, and she let hers fall to his shoulders. When she pulled away, he looked so ecstatic, it seemed a shame to bring him back to earth. “But now I really do have to go,” she whispered, putting a finger to his lips.

“I know,” he sighed, accepting his fate, kissing her finger but letting her go as she slipped out of his grasp. She bent to put on her shoes, then made for the bedroom door, and he got up off the bed to follow her. 

“Remember, we’re due at the training range this afternoon, so don’t go back to bed and sleep the day away.” She combed her fingers through her untidy hair, managing to make it look tousled and sexy. 

“Don’t worry,” Gambit assured as she reached the door. “Sleeping’s the last thing on my mind just now.”

“Yes, I know,” Purdey said wryly, turning and shooting him a knowing smile. “That’s the problem.” But she reached a hand out to him, and he went to her. She still hadn’t opened the door, and he could tell she was reluctant to leave, despite her businesslike demeanour.

He took her hand in his, stroked the back with his thumb. “Listen, last night…” He shook his head in mild disbelief. In a lot of ways, the night before still seemed like a dream. “I know it sounds corny, but it was the best night of my life,” he confessed.

She smiled in a way that was less-than-innocent. “Mine, too.”

Gambit chuckled a little with pride. “Glad to hear it. But all the same, I, well, I guess I’m afraid that when you walk out the door, it’ll be like it never happened.”

“Gambit,” she said sympathetically, brushing a stray curl from his forehead with her free hand. “Mike. I know I’ve made a habit of stringing you along, but I promise you that what I said to you last night will still be true the next time I see you.”

Gambit, rather endearingly, looked relieved. “Promise?”

Purdey smiled away his fears. “Promise.”

His smile spread like sunrise, and he kissed her hand--fingers, knuckles, and palm, making her feel wonderfully warm inside. “Go out and be brilliant,” he pronounced.

“When have I ever been otherwise?” she asked, tongue-in-cheek, and when he laughed, she couldn’t resist the urge to kiss him one last time. It was gentle and tender, the way it had been the night before, and she broke it with difficulty.

“I love you,” Gambit whispered before she pulled away.

“I know,” she said with a smile. “I love you, too. But—“

“I know. You have to go.” He watched her pull away and open the door with a smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

Her eyes skimmed over his form from head to toe. “I’d better,” she said with an added huskiness in her voice, and then she was gone. Gambit was left grinning like an absolute fool, but found he didn’t care. He ran a hand over his head and through his hair, trying to comprehend how his life could take such a dramatic turn in 24 hours. He didn’t know quite what to do with himself, but he knew what he should do. “Shower,” he told himself, even if it meant washing Purdey’s scent from his skin.

VVVV

When Purdey pushed open the swinging door to the gym, duffel bag in hand, she found Gambit leaning against the wall immediately opposite, one booted foot crossed over the other, toe touching the floor just beside his own duffel bag, hands crossed behind his back, and a smile playing over his lips. “Hello, Purdey,” he greeted, sounding more than a little pleased, both with himself and her.

“Gambit...” Purdey regarded him with a knowing smile of her own. It was always difficult to keep a straight face when Gambit was looking at her quite like that, but even harder with the memories of the night before dancing through her mind. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Maybe.” Gambit pushed off the wall and started toward her, and Purdey started moving, too, matching his leisurely gait step-for-step.

“Were you afraid I wouldn’t turn up?” Purdey inquired, feeling more than a little smug at the idea that Mike Gambit hadn’t thought one night in his bed was enough to guarantee her return.

“Well, it has been—“ Gambit twisted his hand left hand so he could read the watch face on the inside of his wrist. “—six hours since you left my flat. You could have decided you’d made a horrible mistake, changed your name, and be halfway to Argentina by now.”

“Silly man. I could have managed that in four,” Purdey teased. “Possibly four and a half if the line at the airport was excruciatingly long.”

Gambit rolled his eyes heavenward for a moment. “Of course. I should have guessed. Either way, it’s good to see you.”

Purdey arched an interested eyebrow. “You really were worried, weren’t you?” She tsked at his foolishness. “And after everything I said. Negative thinking, Mike Gambit.”

“Give me something positive to hold on to,” Gambit replied, following the script. They’d crossed the expanse of the gym, meeting in the middle, and stopped inches apart. Purdey looked up into the same blue-green eyes she’d drowned in the night before, and awoken to that morning.

“I thought I did,” she murmured. “Last night.”

“You did,” Gambit agreed, eyes dancing now. “But I wouldn’t want to take you for granted. I couldn’t do that. Not where we’re concerned.” Purdey bit her lip in spite of herself, and tried very hard to resist the urge to blush. “But you’re here now, and that means we can get down to the important things...” He leaned in, mouth seeking hers, but stopped when Purdey placed a restraining hand on his chest.

“Not here,” she hissed, glancing over her shoulder. “Have you forgotten what we agreed?”

“No,” Gambit said simply, “but the rest of the unit is out there orienting themselves to the course, and we’re not allowed to go out there or have any contact with them until they’ve finished. We’ve already had a run at it, so we have an unfair advantage. No one’s coming in, Purdey.” He saw her sceptical expression, and added, “I know we agreed to not misbehave on duty, but even you’ve got to make an exception for the first time we see each other the morning...afternoon after the night before.” He could see her resolve wavering, and delivered the coup de grace. “Besides, did you really expect to walk in here without making me want to kiss you?”

Purdey opened her mouth to reply, but no answer was forthcoming, and she found herself grinning instead, at least until Gambit’s mouth met hers in a gentle kiss. When they parted, the smile only broadened, and she couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and tug his tie. “Mike Gambit...”

Gambit grinned back. “Hello, Purdey-girl. Miss me?”

“Gambit, it’s only been six hours. Do you honestly believe I spent the whole of it pining for you?”

“Well, you did wake up in my bed this morning,” Gambit pointed out. “That must have left some sort of impression.”

“Strictly speaking, it wasn’t your bed,” Purdey countered airily. “It was your spare bed. For your guests.”

“I bought it, I slept in it, it’s mine,” Gambit asserted, knowing Purdey was trying to get a rise out of him, and somehow glad that some things would remain unchanged in their relationship, despite recent developments. “You’re not going to take that away from me on a technicality.”

“Whoever’s it was, don’t expect me to go easy on you in the course just because of last night,” Purdey warned. “I want to top our best score, and I can’t have you dragging me down because you’re too busy recreating last night with that incorrigible imagination of yours. I need you focussed.”

“I am focussed.”

“Yes. On certain parts of my anatomy,” Purdey observed, though her tone indicated more than a touch of pride and flattery on her part. “And that won’t help either of our careers.”

“Who’s to say I’m going to let the side down?” Gambit inquired. “I’m not going to take the blame if you can’t keep eyes front.” He leaned in and treated her to a saucy wink. “Or are you going to deny giving me a once-over when you walked in?”

“I didn’t!” Purdey protested, but her blush told him otherwise. “Oh, be quiet,” she grumbled at his triumphant expression, bending to pick up her bag. “Stop looking smug and get changed.”

“Just a minute.” Gambit caught her left hand, held it in both of his. “Before you go, I was wondering...”

Purdey set the bag back down again, regarded him expectantly. “Yes?”

Gambit suddenly looked shy, which was very surprising. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“No,” Purdey said carefully, searching his face for answers. “Not that I can recall. Why?”

“I thought I might take you out. You know, on a proper date. Now that we’re, you know...”

Purdey arched an interested eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

“Dinner, dancing...” Gambit volunteered, then added, with a wicked glint in his eye. “Afters at my place.”

“Except for the last part,” Purdey said wryly, “that sounds incredibly like any of our other nights out.”

Gambit shook his head. “Those weren’t dates.”

“And how is tonight different?”

“Two reasons. For one, we’re together.”

“We must have looked very odd all those evenings if we weren’t together,” Purdey quipped.

“And two,” Gambit went on, shooting a ‘yes, very funny’ glance her way, “there’s actually the possibility of sex when it’s all over.”

Purdey smiled sweetly. “And there wasn’t before?”

“You tell me.”

“Gambit.” Purdey smoothed his lapels and straightened his tie as though he had the mental capacity of a five-year-old, and she had to make things simple for him. “There was always a chance.”

Gambit arched an interested eyebrow. “There was?”

“Mmm.”

“How high?”

“If you knew that,” Purdey said, secretive smile playing over her lips, “I wouldn’t be able to enjoy watching you try to work it out over dinner.”

Gambit looked pleased at that, at least, overcoming his perturbation at the new information. “It’s a date?”

“Pick me up at seven,” Purdey agreed, patting his shoulder companionably. “And I’ll tell you this much. There was always a chance, but depending on the night, it was, shall we say, variable.” With that, she bent and picked up her bag, making for the changing room.

“Variable?” Gambit muttered to himself. “Which night was it the highest? Purdey!” he called after the retreating form, but the girl simply waved over her shoulder without turning round.

“You were always good at maths. Perhaps you could work out a formula,” she called back. “Now hurry up. I’m not taking demerits because you were slow to the starting line.”

VVVV

“Hello, Mr. Steed,” Tompkins greeted as Steed strolled onto his observational platform. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing at all,” Steed demurred. “I’m here in a purely observational capacity.” He pointed his brolly at a pair of binoculars resting on a table. “May I?”

“Please.” Tompkins turned his attention back to the action on the course. Steed trained his binoculars on the tiny figures leaping about the platforms.

“How are Purdey and Gambit faring?” he inquired, keeping his tone deliberately light. “Still rather stiff like last time?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Tompkins protested, adjusting his own binoculars so he could get a better view of the action. “The complete opposite, as a matter of fact. I’ve never seen them so in sync.” He consulted his clipboard quickly, smiled in satisfaction. “If they keep it up, they’ll best their top score without any trouble at all.”

Steed watched the distant figures, moving smoothly as one, as though dancing a dance the moves of which were known to them alone. Gambit and Purdey had always possessed an instinctive rhythm when working together, but this, this was something new. There was an openness Steed had never seen between them before, a remarkable ease that defied description. Given the state of affairs a few weeks before, Steed would have expected things to have deteriorated to the point of no return. But something had changed, a barrier had fallen, and from his vantage point, Steed intuitively knew it was for the better.

“I can’t imagine how they managed such an abrupt about-face in such a short period of time,” Tompkins was saying. He made a note on his clipboard, regarded Steed curiously. “Can you, Mr. Steed?”

“Oh, one never knows,” Steed said airily, lowering the binoculars and returning them to the table. “I have one or two theories. Time will tell if I’m barking up the wrong tree, I’m sure.”

Tompkins looked interested. “Anything you’d care to share?”

“Not at the moment,” Steed deferred. “But I’m sure Purdey and Gambit will enlighten us when the time is right. I’ll take my leave now, Tompkins.”

“Oh.” Tompkins looked disappointed at this development, but knew better than to press the issue. John Steed never gave up information unless he wanted to, and at the moment he clearly didn’t want to, so there was little point in making a pest of himself. “Right you are. Good-bye, Mr. Steed.”

“Good-bye,” Steed returned, doffing his bowler by way of a farewell, then setting off, umbrella swinging jauntily. “Yes, I’m sure you’ll enlighten us all,” he murmured to himself. “One of these days.” 

He grinned at his own private joke all the way back to the Jaguar.

End


End file.
